


(Iron Is A) Star Killer

by RayShippouUchiha



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Civil War Team Iron Man, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremis, Fix-It of Sorts, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Steve Friendly, Possessive Behavior, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Team Cap Critical, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wanda Maximoff Critical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: Tony doesn’t hate Steve.  Doesn’t hate any of them.  Doesn't even come close.He only wishes he could.Wishes that, for once, he could hate someone as much as he’s always hated himself.As much as everyone else, with the few rare exceptions, have always seemed to hate him.At the very least he wishes he could just stop caring altogether.In this he would take the absence over the difference anyday.





	1. Shiver. Shake. Shatter.

**Author's Note:**

> I finally broke and did something with Civil War.

Siberia is, unsurprisingly, bitterly cold.

He hadn’t felt it before, protected by the armor as he’d been.  He’d been insulated from the weather and focused on more important things.  He hadn’t bothered to give it more than a passing thought that didn’t revolve around wind speeds and visibility issues.

He’d been focused on getting answers, focused on helping, on _protecting_ , on St- …

Well, he’d had other things on his mind.

But now?

Laying on his back, helmet gone, reactor dark and armor a dead weight, with the snow drifting in at him?

Now he _feels_ it.

It’s the only thing he can feel at the moment, the only thing that really feels _real_.

So … Siberia is _cold_.

And Tony …

Tony’s fading, black closing in around the edges like clawed fingers reaching up to pull him down.

He doesn’t bother fighting it.

Doesn’t even try.

When the dark finally, _blessedly,_ takes him …

Tony welcomes it like an old friend.

It’s one of the few he has left.

~~~

Tony Stark dies on the cold, snow strewn floor of a Siberian bunker.

~~~

Or at least, that’s what he wishes had happened.

~~~

What really happens is that Tony spends thirty six hours in an abandoned HYDRA base in Siberia before help comes, before Vision finally finds him.

He’s cold and he’s bleeding and he’s broken in more ways than one.

Tony leaves more than just blood and sweat and destruction behind him in that bunker.

In return Tony takes more than the pain of his body, the hurt in his heart, and the betrayal _festering_ inside of him like an infection with him when he leaves.

The cold stays with him too.

~~~

Tony answers Ross’ questions about his whereabouts in short, clipped sentences.  In half-truths and leading statements.  He gives Ross enough to form a solid story but he doesn’t give him the whole truth.  Doesn’t tell him or anyone else what really went down.

He takes his hurt and his newfound knowledge, _or maybe it’s not new because betrayal tastes so familiar nowadays_ , and he curls it down into a ball at the center of his chest.  Uses it to weld a coat of _iron_ around his too weak heart.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

Doesn’t make any of it better.

Doesn’t make Tony feel any less tired.

Doesn’t make Tony any warmer deep down where it used to matter.

He doesn’t think anything ever will.

Tony would say he’s hollow inside now if he didn’t feel so goddamn _heavy_ all of the time.

Tony would say he’s empty now but he _knows_ he’s not.

He’s all filled up with ice instead.

Winter has made its home in Tony now, he’s arctic to the core.

It’s almost poetic in a sense.

Except for how it’s not.

~~~

He doesn’t give himself a day or two to rest and heal like Rhodey insists.

He doesn’t take time to, _‘properly process the events that have taken place’_ , like Vision suggests.

Tony has had _decades_ of hurt and pain and betrayal.  Has had years of longing for a place to call home only to always, _constantly_ , have it ripped away.  Has had an _entire life time_ of never being good enough no matter how hard he tries.

And, goddamn him for a fool, does he _always_ seem to try.

A measly handful of almost good years tainted now by snide comments, by distrust and lies of omission and fake smiles and _goddamn yearning_ for yet another group of people who don’t want him is _nothing_.

Besides, now Tony’s had thirty six uninterrupted hours in an abandoned Siberian bunker to search and think, to rest and heal, to _process_.

He doesn’t need to waste more time on any of that.  Can’t.  _Won’t_.

~~~

Rhodey comes first once Tony’s back at the Compound, because of course he does.

Rhodey, his best friend, his brother, the one constant in his life despite their ups and downs.

Tony took his legs from him.

So now he has to give them back in the best way he knows how.

~~~

Tony calls Pepper only once in the first few days that follow.

She talks to him softly, gently.  Tony hears Happy in the background and almost wants to smile.

He’s been good for her and her for him.  Tony’s glad they bonded after that mess with Killian and AIM.  Is glad that Happy and Pepper found each other even as he and Pepper drifted apart.

“Stark legal is at your services Tony.”  Pepper tells him quietly but he knows her well enough to hear the thread of anger in her voice.  Knows that, for once, it’s not directed towards him.  “Just tell me what you want done.”

Tony does.

~~~

Vision stares at the hole in the floor of the Compound often.  Sometimes for hours on end.

“What’re you looking for?”  Tony can’t help but ask him one night after too long without sleep and too much coffee and the haunting sound of vibranium striking hard at a titanium-gold alloy ringing in his ears.

“Clarity.”  Vision tells him softly.

Tony doesn’t say anything but he thinks he understands.

~~~

There’s a package for him.

There’s a phone.

There’s a _letter_.

There’s a call from Ross.

‘ _Tony_ ,’ the letter starts and it takes all he has in him not to _scream_.

Tony reads the entire thing through once, pauses to put Ross on hold, reads it a second time and then a third.

Snow blots out his vision for a long moment and all he can hear is the sound of ice crackling in his ears.

All he can feel is the painful crash of a shield breaking his entire world in two.

~~~

Vision finds him some hours later in the yard outside the Compound, a small fire blazing merrily at his feet.

“Sir, _Tony_ ,” Vision speaks up at his side, “what are you doing?”

“Infection,” Tony starts even as he keeps his eyes on the flames, “is a dangerous thing.”

“I am aware,” Vision’s eyes feel like a brand on the side of his face as he stares.  “Wounds should be properly treated to prevent such a thing.  Are you injured?  Have your wounds reopened?”

“No.  This is me, cauterizing a wound.”  Tony tells him softly, intently.  “It’ll be nothing but a scar now Viz.  Just another to add to the collection.”

Tony’s pretty sure that they both know he’s lying.

But Vision doesn’t call him out on it and that, that right there’s a kindness all on its own.

~~~

Tony scans the phone, breaks it down to its basic components and examines every piece because that’s _what_ _he_ _does_.

And then he puts it back together in perfect working order.

Because that’s _who he is_.

He’s always been driven to fix the things that hurt him.

Maybe _especially_ the things that hurt him.

~~~

_Wakanda.  Wakanda.  Wakanda._

The name beats in his head like a refrain.

He knows.

Tony _knows_.

He could act.

He could hurt them like they’ve hurt him.

All it would take would be one phone call.  One word in the right/wrong ear.

He won’t though.

He never could in the past.

It’s just one more thing that hasn’t changed about him after all.

~~~

Tony slides the phone across the countertop in Vision’s direction one morning a week or so later.  Rhodey stares at it, brows furrowed, and Vision looks faintly bemused.

“Antiquated,” Vision hums even as he looks up at Tony.  “May I ask why you’re giving this to me Sir?”

“St- _Rogers_ sent it to me.”  Tony holds up a hand to still Rhodey’s noise of outrage.  “I burnt the letter that came with it but the phone’s got one number in it.  One number in case push comes to a fiery end kind of shove.  He said he’d, _they’d_ , be here if we needed them.  That all I had to do was call.”

“ _That son of a bitch_.”  Rhodey seethes from beside him.

“You’re a better man than I’ll ever be Vision,” Tony keeps going determinedly.  “So you make the call if it comes down to it.  You’ll know if the times right.  I … I can’t trust myself to make that kind of decision.”

“You are a good man Tony.”  Vision insists quietly and Tony has to smile at the way he can’t seem to choose which name to use for him, Sir or Tony.  At least Mr. Stark is a thing of the past now.

Still.

“Oh baby boy no,” Tony chides with a rueful huff, “between the two of us, you’re the better man.  Me?  I’m just … _bad code_.”

~~~

For the first time in _years_ , for the first time since right before Ultron if he really thinks about it, Tony’s thinking completely clearly about everything.

And he’s finally come to a conclusion.

Even after all this time, after Afghanistan and Obie, after the palladium and New York, after AIM and Sokovia, he’s still the same at the core.

Still the same _dumb fucking kid_ who went back to Howard time after time, bloody and bruised and so stupidly _hopeful_.

The same little _idiot_ who’d reached out and grabbed _hot tools and cracked flasks and sharp metal_ whatever Howard shoved in his direction even though his hands were already riddled with scars.  Always so hopeful that maybe _this time_ it would matter, maybe _this time_ it’d be different.

The same kid who’d learned not to dodge a backhand because the return swing always hurt so much worse some how.

The same boy who’d never been enough to get Maria to stay home on holidays and birthdays and weekends, _please just this once choose me_ , no matter how hard he begged.

The same person who’s realized, in hurtful stops and starts along the way, that there must be something inherently _flawed_ inside of him in a way he can’t fix.

There’s no other explanation for why it’s so hard for people to love him back.  He’s the common denominator after all, the unchanged variable.  The flaw _must_ be with him.

So, ultimately, at the deepest heart of him, Tony’s finally realized that he’s the same man who’d sat with Yinsen beside that fire in that cave in Afghanistan.

Still the man who has _everything_ and _nothing_.

Only now he’s been stripped down to brass tacks.  Peeled out of his various armors and left exposed.  Vulnerable.

Now he’s got nothing left but a few scattered, charred pieces of the time bomb he’d tried to fool himself into believing could _finally_ be his family.

That, a heart coated in iron, and the ice that fills his bones.

But that’s okay.

Tony’s made miracles with less.

This?

This is nothing.

~~~

He’s lying.

This, _they_ , were supposed to be everything.

And maybe they were.  For him.

Even if the feeling wasn’t mutual, even if that bond only went one way where he’s concerned.

Yeah, maybe the problem was, as it always has been in the past, him all along.

Iron Man yes, Tony Stark … not recommended.

Sounds about right.

~~~

Sometimes, when it’s dark and quiet, Tony climbs up onto the roof of the Compound and stares up at the sky, at the stars and the death he knows they hold.

Sometimes he sits there and he can’t help but wonder.

What’s so wrong with him that so many of the things he loves never seem to love him back in equal measure?

Or at all.

Sometimes he’s not sure which hurts worst.

The difference or the absence.

~~~

Tony’s stands beside Vision as they both watch Rhodey grip the parallel bars tightly as he works with the newest iteration of the exoskeleton Tony made him.  He’s gained a lot of his strength back and the muscles in his arms ripple more now than they did before, stand out in harsh definition.

Soon, Tony knows, the bars will be gone all together.  Rhodey’s strong like that, determined.

At the moment he and Vision are here more for moral support than anything else.

Even if they might be two of the worst people/beings to provide that kind of thing.

There’s a long beat of silence between the two of them as they watch Rhodey before Tony finally looks up at Vision and says, “You should have left me there, in Siberia.  I was ready.”

 _‘To die’_ , he doesn’t say the words, but he knows Vision hears them anyways.

The words have been itching at the back of Tony’s tongue since Vision had stepped through the wall of the base in Siberia and kneeled down at his side.

For a moment Vision just looks down at him and the expression on his face is young and sweet and wise and ancient all at the same time.  Tony just stares back up at him, raw and unguarded and so _goddamn cold_.

Finally Vision just reaches up and runs his fingers through Tony’s hair, tactile in a way he never was _before_ , like he needs the touch to ground him now.

Vision doesn’t speak though, just stands there, crowded against Tony’s side, his hand drifting from his hair to his shoulder and then away before he floats over to Rhodey’s side.

Tony’s stuck wondering if it’s because he agrees or if it’s because there’s simply nothing else to say.

~~~

They’re having dinner, the three of them, well Tony and Rhodey with Vision watching on with a soft expression on his face as they eat his rapidly improving cooking.

Tony’s just caught a fry Rhodey flicked at him in his mouth when Vision clears his throat meaningfully.

“What’s up Viz?”  Rhodey’s the one who asks, soft and gentle in that way he’s only ever been with Tony himself before now.

Vision brings a hand up and Tony goes quiet, goes still, because in his hand is a familiar flip phone.

“I have considered the matter at great length.  I have calculated and contemplated a great deal on the subject.  It was unpleasant in a lot of ways but … _necessary_ I think.”  Vision announces and before Tony can ask anything else the phone crumbles to dust in Vision’s suddenly clenched hand.

Surprised Tony just stares at him silently, brow slightly furrowed.

“In conclusion I found the sentiment behind this offer to be … _offensive_.”  Vision meets his gaze head on and the look in his eyes is heavier, darker in some ways, than usual.  “If they, any of them, would have us rely on their aid in our time of need then why did they willfully leave to begin with?  One does not abandon their family, _abuse_ their family, and then offer comfort and aid.  To do so is to wound in ways that do not heal.”

Tony feels oddly breathless.

“This is me,” Vision says slowly, deliberately, and his eyes never waver from Tony’s, never even blink, “cauterizing that wound.  I will not allow infection to take from me the family that I still have left.”

~~~

The Spiderling is next.

Tony had already sent him a small gift weeks ago but there’s more he’s been working on that he wants the boy to have.

That kid, _Peter_ , he’s the future.

He’s the future Tony’s been fighting for all along.

Him and all the others like him.

~~~

The hole in the Compound floor gets fixed.

Vision doesn’t stand and stare down into the ground searching for clarity any more.

Now he finds Tony on the nights Tony takes to the roof.

“What do you search for when you look at the stars?”  Vision asks him softly.

“Hope,” Tony tells him.  “Absolution.  A million things I’ll never deserve.”

~~~

Sometimes Tony dreams about being back in Afghanistan.

Sometimes he dreams about water closing in over his head and boots in his ribs and the constant ache of pain and hunger and wounds only ever half healed.

Sometimes he dreams about Yinsen cutting him open and scooping bits of him out.

Over and over and over again.

Sometimes he dreams about having the reactor put in for the first time, seeing it glowing like a star in his mangled chest.

Sometimes Tony dreams about Afghanistan and it’s not even a nightmare anymore.

Because at least then he knew why everything was happening.

At least then he understood all of the hurt.

~~~

“I searched for clarity,” Vision tells him softly.  “I stared down into that hole and willed myself to understand without bias, without reservations.”

“Did it work?”  Tony asks even as he keeps his eyes on the stars overhead.

“No.”  Vision’s hand comes down on his shoulder then, and the feel of it is comforting.  “But I found something better I believe.”

“What?”

“Purpose.”

~~~

Sometimes Tony thinks about Steve.  _Steve_ , not Rogers.  Although Tony’s not really sure there’s a difference anymore.  Isn’t sure if anything he’d thought had been between them was ever real.

He still thinks about it though.  About what they’d could have, had almost, had together.

It had been there, shimmering between them, that tension, that yearning that Tony had been so sure wasn’t one sided.

There are days when Tony can still almost taste it, the burgeoning possibilities of what they could have been lingering on his tongue, spicy and sharp.

The flavor always sours though, always turns coppery and sick in his mouth like a sickening mix of blood and dirty snow.

It’s not hate, what Tony feels for him now, but it keeps close company with it.

~~~

That’s a lie.

Tony doesn’t hate Steve.  Doesn’t hate any of them.  Doesn't even come close.

He only wishes he could.

Wishes that, for once, he could hate someone as much as he’s always hated himself.

As much as everyone else, with the few rare exceptions, have always seemed to hate him.

At the very least he wishes he could just stop caring altogether.

In this he would take the absence over the difference anyday.

~~~

Sometimes Tony dreams about Siberia.

About the snow and the cold.  About the smugness in Zemo’s voice.  About the way Steve’s jaw tightened when he lied.

About the pain and fear on Barnes’ face.

About the rage on Steve’s as he brought the shield down.

About the quiet afterwards.

Sometimes Tony dreams about how death had been right there, reaching out to him with cold and welcoming arms.

With promises of _peace_ and _quiet_ and an _end_ to everything.

An end to him.

And Tony … god Tony had been so close, _so fucking close_ , he could taste it, sharp and cold on his tongue but so damn welcoming.

He’d been ready to lay there, to just close his eyes and let the cold take him.

But in this, as with so many other things, Tony so rarely gets what he wants.

~~~

“You should have left me there.”  Tony rasps.  He’d woke, screaming, to the sight of Vision siting on the edge of his bed.  Rhodey, who’d rolled into his room a few hours before wide eyed and panting from a nightmare of his own, reaches for him blindly from where he’s sleeping on what’s becoming his side of the bed with a small sound of distress.

“I find that I was too selfish to do so, Sir.”  Vision tells him softly as he curls one large hand around Tony’s ankle and the other around one of Rhodey’s even though he can’t feel it.  “I find myself thankful that I did not.”

The echo of JARVIS in his voice will never not be painful but Tony bites it down like he always does.

He won’t punish Vision for being who he is instead of the ghost Tony sometimes hears when he speaks.

He won’t punish Vision like Howard used to punish him.

“Sleep Tony,” Vision urges him.  “I will watch over you both.  Be at ease for there are no more wounds here.  Only scars.  They cannot hurt us now.”

Tony settles back down, forces himself to breathe deeply.

They both know it’s a lie.

All they do is hurt nowadays, the three of them.

All they do is ache.

~~~

Some, _most_ , days Tony wishes he’d died in Afghanistan.

 _God_ why hadn’t he died in Afghanistan?

The cave would have been _kinder_ than the cold.

~~~

Tony sets his sights in a new direction, this one much more cautious, much more careful.

 _‘Collateral’_ , he thinks to himself, _‘must be kept to a minimum.’_

~~~

The thing that so many people don't seem to understand is the fact that Tony _is_ Iron Man.

The suit and he are one in a way no one, not even Rhodey, will ever understand.

It’s been true since the moment Yinsen strapped him into the Mark I and then ran willingly to his death.

_Tony is Iron Man._

Howard had always said that _‘Stark men are made of iron’_ and Tony has hated and embraced that phrase in equal measures over the years.

But here’s the thing…

When a star gets old enough, when its fuel is starting to run out and it's running out of the lighter elements, that’s when a star starts producing iron at its core.

And that?  An overproduction of iron and the inability to compensate for the energy it absorbs?

In the end that’s what causes black holes.

Iron is a star killer.

And Tony’s burned so very brightly for so very long that he’s almost out of fuel.

Not yet though.

Not yet.

He's got enough left in him for one final push.

Once more unto the breach.


	2. Remember.  Reframe.  Rebuild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response from the first chapter was awesome! I'm so glad you guys are liking this!

Life in the Compound is a study in ignoring empty spaces now.

In ignoring closed doors and empty chairs.

In pressing forward through long pauses and smoothing over gaping silences.

In doing their best not to dwell on what, _who_ , they all know is missing.

It’s a difficult thing to do too, given all of the memories that linger in the Compound.

Tony knows that too many reminders litter its rooms for any of them to find any _real_ peace most of the time.  He can see it in the lines that’ve been carved deeper into Rhodey’s face, in the way Vision pauses and stares off into the middle distance.

He can feel it in the way he can sometimes taste ice and snow, sharp and biting and bitterly cold on his tongue, when he lingers in an empty room.

It _hurts_ but, like with so many other things and so many times before, Tony’s slowly learning to live with the pain.

It’s difficult, the _ache_ of it all, but he bites it down, balls it up, and pushes forward.

Because that’s who he is and what he’s always done.

Push through the pain.

Ever forward.

Ultimately that’s how Tony finds himself standing silently in the living room, hands shaking as he stares down at one of Rogers’ sketchbooks.

It’s been laying on the coffee table for … since _before_ and they’ve all just been moving around it.

Just like Maximoff’s scarf on the back of the chair, Romanov’s boots by the wall in the kitchen, Wilson’s camera on the side table, and the six pack of shitty beer in the refrigerator that Barton had only half-finished the last time he stopped by to visit.

Even after the hole in the Compound floor was fixed these things had remained, these tiny reminders of what once was.  They litter the Compound like bits of detritus stacked here and there.  Each of them only serving to remind them all, painfully, that there used to be more than the three of them living there.  That there was once a time where the Compound was rarely, _truly_ , silent because there was always someone moving, doing, _living_ in some corner of some room.

It’s different now, with its empty rooms and echoing halls and silent nights.

It’s an imprint of the mansion Tony grew up in now, the one he’d shut down as soon as he was eighteen and had the right.

A reflection of the way Tony had never touched Howard’s favorite scotch decanter in the study or Maria’s pill bottles in the master suite’s bathroom.

Of how even before that, back when Jarvis died, Tony had stolen the key to his quarters, locked the door tightly, and hadn’t let anyone, not even himself, open it since then.  How Jarvis himself had never moved Ana’s clothes from the closet, her perfume from the dresser, her earrings from the dish she always dropped them in.

For Tony this is like being forced back into a piece of his childhood all over again.

He _hates_ it.

He hates the way _their_ absence has turned the Compound, the place that was supposed to be a home for all of them, that was supposed to be _safe_ , into some kind of a _mausoleum_.  Into this half-dead thing that they’re all afraid to touch, afraid to change except in the smallest of ways.

He hates it but he doesn’t know how to change it, how to fix it.

Doesn’t even know if he can.

Doesn’t know if he has the strength left to do more than what he’s already set in motion.

~~~

“Will you take the armor up again Tony?”  Vision floats beside him, head tilted back as he stares upwards at the stars.

Tony thinks about Barton and Maximoff dropping cars on his head, one after the other without even blinking.

Thinks about Lang pulling wires and disconnecting systems after he slipped inside of the armor in a way that only a few would have been aware was possible.

Thinks about not being fast enough to catch Rhodey.

About Barnes hand digging in deep as he tried to rip the reactor out.

About Rogers’ shield coming down over and over again across his face until Tony was bloody and the helmet was gone.

About that split second where he was _sure_ Rogers was going to aim for his exposed throat afterwards.

About that split second when Tony had wanted him to.

About how the reactor had flickered and died after Rogers had imbedded the shield there instead.

About thirty-six hours in an abandoned Siberian bunker and the cold that never left him.

“I don’t know V,” Tony tells him.  “I don’t know if there’s any sense in it anymore.”

“Perhaps it is selfish of me,” Vision begins softly as he floats closer to Tony’s side, a hand coming down to run gently through his hair.  Tony’s not sure which of them he’s trying to soothe but he suspects it might be both.  “But I find that I hope you do.  I find that I hope to see both Iron Man and War Machine fly again.  I wish to one day fly with both of you at my side again.”

“Why?”  Tony leans his head against Vision’s leg, lets himself be weak, be vulnerable, with one of the only people he has the capacity to be open with anymore.

“Because we are family.”  Vision simply says and Tony feels his chest clench and then slowly release.  “I would not have this wound, these scars, take this from you both.  From us.  From the world.”

“I don’t think the world needs Iron Man anymore.”  Tony says it like a secret, like a confession he can barely stand to voice.  Like the fear it is.

“The world needs Tony Stark.  And Tony Stark _is_ Iron Man.  In ways that I do not believe others truly understand.”  Vision says firmly, like it’s one of the undeniable truths the world is built upon.  “I cannot think of a time in which this world will not need you, Sir.  In which _I_ will not need you.”

 _‘Oh,’_ Tony thinks softly as he sucks in a shuddering breath and feels something inside of him seem to settle just a bit.  _‘Okay.’_

~~~

Tony stares at his own hands sometimes when the quiet finds him.

His hands are rough, calloused, littered with scars.

Somedays he likes them, likes that they show him for the builder he is, for the mechanic he is deep down passed all the bullshit.

Most days he hates them though, hates the reminders they carry, the memories they hold of the things they have and have not touched.

Hates the way he doesn’t think they’ll ever be clean.

Tony’s so tired of being dirty, of being blood red and filthy with guilt and shame.

Sometimes he wishes he could just make himself anew.

~~~

Staring down at the BARF headset Tony’s once again hit with the realization that he’s always been driven to fix the things that hurt him.

And Barnes on _that_ night?  During those years between his fall and Rogers finding him?

That’s what he’d been.

A _thing_ , not a _person_.

Not really.

So, Tony’s going to fix it, him.

That’s what he _does_ , that’s who he _is_.

~~~

“Thank you for this,” Rhodey says quietly from beside him a week or so later.  They’re on their second lap around the small but ornate Zen garden Tony had optimistically built for Bruce in a small section of the Compound’s grounds.

It’s gone unused until now, Bruce had never even stepped foot in it.  Now Rhodey walks it in the late afternoons as part of his ongoing physical therapy.  Now Vision feeds the koi fish and tends to the plants by hand, practicing his precision as he prunes and shapes the trees.  Now Tony draws equations and diagrams in the sand late at night when he wakes _screaming_ and can’t bear to be inside the Compound anymore.

Now the three of them spend time there together and apart, desperately grasping at what peace they can.

Trying to dull the _ache_.

Tony isn’t sure if it’ll ever go away.

For any of them.

“For what?”  Tony asks absently, attention focused on his tablet as he tracks the readings from the exoskeleton.  He’s determined to catch any glitch or stutter that might be left in the design even after his numerous rebuilds and redesigns.

“You gave me my legs back Tones.”  Rhodey’s hand lands on his shoulder then, a warm and familiar weight.  “You let me walk again.”

“It’s the least I could do.”  Tony doesn’t look up at Rhodey as he answers, just keeps his eyes fixed on his tablet.  “Especially since it’s my fault you lost them in the first place.”

“That’s _bullshit_ and you know it.”  Rhodey snaps and the harshness of his tone is enough to make Tony finally look up at him.  Rhodey’s glowering, eyes narrowed and jaw tensed.  “That’s bullshit Tony, and I don’t ever want to hear you say something that fucking _stupid_ ever again.  You hear me?  Not ever.”

Taken aback at the venom in Rhodey’s voice Tony just blinks for a moment and then nods slowly.

“Come here.”  Rhodey hauls him forward with the hand on his shoulder until Tony can tuck his face into the crook of Rhodey’s neck.  Just like he used to when he was young, after Jarvis was gone and then Howard and Maria and Tony was in danger of shaking apart at the seams and Rhodey was all he had.

Just like he had when Rhodey had found him in Afghanistan.

“This isn’t on you Tony so don’t carry it.  Don’t you dare.”  Rhodey sighs as he cards a hand through Tony’s hair in that way they both know he won’t admit he likes.  “This cluster-fuck isn’t your fault so don’t, not even for a minute, think it is.  You did good man.  No matter what, no matter how all this mess turns out in the end, don’t forget that.  Don’t let anyone else make you forget that.  You did _good_ and I’m proud of you.  The world spoke and you, _we_ , listened.  There’s nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to that.  I’m proud of what we did, of what you did, even if it didn’t turn out the way we wanted.”

Tony closes his eyes and breathes slowly, deliberately.

“Maybe,” Rhodey says softly, carefully, “maybe this is a good thing.  Not my legs or you … what happened to you.  Not that.  But the team splintering the way it did?  Maybe that was for the best Tones.  Maybe now we can rebuild it into something better.  Something strong and healthy and _right_.  The way you wanted it to be.  The way it should have been the entire time.  The way the world deserves.”

Tony wants to believe that.  Wants to so goddamn badly.

He wants to think that maybe, just maybe, all of the pain and the hurt was worth it after all.

Maybe _he’s_ worth something after all.

~~~

There’s an idea growing in the back of Tony’s mind.

And the implications and possibilities of it both terrify and fascinate him.

~~~

Tony’s hand doesn’t shake when he reaches down and picks up the sketchbook and that steadiness, that composure, is almost a surprise.

His fingers drift over the high quality leather cover but he doesn’t open it.  He doesn’t take the opportunity to fulfill the curiosity he’d always had in the past.  He’d always been so intrigued and almost _enchanted_ with the way Rogers would flush and snap whatever number sketchbook he was drawing in closed every time Tony asked him what he was working on.

At the way he’d look up at Tony from underneath his lashes, bottom lip bitten between his teeth and cheeks just the slightest bit flushed in that way that Tony had slowly grown to covet.

It doesn’t matter anymore.  None of that does.  That curiosity, that _yearning_ , the burble of warmth he’d thought had been between them, is gone now.

It’s been written over by the cold that’s etched itself into his bones in its place.

Blotted out by the ice and the snow and the betrayal.

Eaten by the winter that’s made its home inside of him.

So he just tucks the sketchbook under his arm, reaches out and grabs the camera off of the side table, moves to grab the scarf off the back of the chair, the boots by the wall.  The beer he’ll throw away later.

In the end it doesn’t take long to erase their physical presence in the common areas.  To drop their things in their abandoned rooms and seal the doors shut to handle them another day.

And he will handle them, one way or another.

Because Tony is so tired of living in graveyards.

Tired of being haunted by ghosts he didn’t make.

Of being weighed down by phantoms he didn’t ask to carry.

~~~

‘ _Your kindness speaks volumes to your character._ ’ The words, written in a steady and elegant hand, spill out across deliciously expensive stationary embossed with a familiar golden seal.  ‘ _Perhaps this might be the beginning of a new age.  Of a time of reconciliation._ ’

Tony doesn’t sneer as he crumples the letter in his hand but it’s a close thing.

Reconciliation isn’t why he did what he did.

He did it because Barnes was a victim in more ways than one and Tony had attacked him out of rage and pain of more than one kind.

He did it because Barnes deserves to be free.

He did it because Tony’s tired of carrying the burden of his sin against an innocent man.

~~~

Tony can’t help but wonder if that phone would be ringing now if Vision hadn’t destroyed it.

He’s glad he’ll never know for sure.

That’s a wound he doesn’t want to reopen.

An infection he has no interest in fighting again.

~~~

“Is there a reason you called me here Stark?”  Maria Hill’s as stern and narrow eyed as she’s always been around him but Tony resolutely doesn’t care.

She doesn’t like him, never has and probably never will.

It doesn’t matter.

Tony’s used to not being liked after all and at least he can trust that she’ll be honest about her disdain for him.

At least he knows exactly where she stands.

At least with her he’ll never make the mistake of thinking there’s anything more between them than the job.

“I’ve got a proposition for you Hill,” Tony doesn’t smile, not like he would have a year or so ago, doesn’t go for flash and charm to distract and disarm.  Instead he’s blank faced, completely composed and deadly serious.  Cold.  “And it’s one you’re going to take.  Only you don’t know it yet.”

Hill arches a haughty brow but Tony just meets her eyes head on without flinching.

He’s iron to the core now after all.

And he’ll use that to forge something new to help protect the world.

And he doesn’t plan to do it alone either.

There are others he plans to pull into this.  People like himself and Hill and all the others who’d been left behind in the aftermath of SHIELD’s fall.

The angry and broken people he’d scooped up across the world when their covers were blown and their safety nets ripped away.

They might have all been left adrift after SHIELD was cut down to what it is now but Tony thinks they are all much more suited for the _SWORD_ he plans to craft anyways.

~~~

“It’ll be done in a month, less if you want it.  I can always push the construction crew.  You know they’ll deliver.  By now living up to your outrageous demands is a point of pride for them.”  Pepper reassures him, voice soft but concern lingering in her eyes.  She’s as beautiful as always though, and it does Tony good to see her, even if only over a video call.  “As a matter of fact I insist on it.  I’ll feel better the quicker it’s finished.”

“No rush.”  Tony reassures her.  “There’s a lot of other things that’ve got to happen first but I want it done so there’s no wait time when the moment’s finally right.  Timing’s gonna be everything where this is concerned Pepper-pot.”

“Of course,” Pepper finally agrees although Tony can see the way she wants to argue with him by the flat press of her mouth.  “Will that be all Mr. Stark?”

“That’ll be all Ms. Potts.”  The old banter almost brings a smile to his face.

Almost.

Tony doesn’t smile much anymore.

Can’t.

~~~

The armor sits in a heap in the corner of the workshop, little better than scrap metal with the way it’s beaten down and the reactor’s destroyed.

The bots won’t touch it, won’t go near it.

Tony’s half sure they’re scared of it.

Hell, Tony’s half sure _he’s_ scared of it.

The armor was supposed to keep him safe, was supposed to be a safe harbor for him, a way to protect himself and his team, his _family_ , and the world.

 _They’d_ taken that from him, had ripped that security and that protection away from him.

They’d split it apart at the seams and hadn’t even thought twice about it.

All they’d left behind was the _ache_ and the _fear_.

Tony’s used to the hurt by now but he’s so tired of being afraid.

~~~

 _‘You’re a mechanic aren’t you?’_   Harley’s voice creeps into Tony’s mind one night when he’s staring up at the stars from the roof of the Compound.

 _‘Yeah.’_   Tony thinks in answer.

_‘Then why don’t you just build something?’_

_‘Okay,’_ Tony agrees.  _‘Okay, I can do that.’_

~~~

Thaddeus Ross isn’t the devil.

Oh Tony despises him, despises what he’s done, what he’s stood for, what’s he’s caused.  But Tony’s also not naïve enough to think all of that makes the man some kind of all-powerful monster who’s single handedly pulling the strings of the entire world.

The Accords weren’t Ross’ brainchild any more than they were Tony’s no matter what anyone thinks.

Ross is self-serving and arrogant and a _bastard_ on top of all of that, but honestly Tony is too in a lot of ways.

Neither of them would be classified as _‘good men’_.

He knows that, accepts that.

But what they, the both of them, are is _effective_.

That’s made Ross a necessary evil in Tony’s life over the past few years.  Long before he was ever brought into the other’s sphere of attention.  Long before anyone but Bruce ever gave him much of a thought.

Tony’s been playing this game with Ross ever since Rogers, Wilson, and Romanov had dropped those helicarriers in DC and given the world yet another reason to be afraid by exposing both SHIELD and HYDRA’s secrets for everyone to see.

That’s a mess that’d left a lot of people dead and a lot more of them _angry_.  It’s also a mess Tony’s been scrambling to clean up ever since.  A mess he’s now in the process of re-forging into something _new_.

“Mr. Secretary,” Tony nods in greeting as he sweeps into the conference room where Ross has been waiting for him on FRIDAY’s recommendation.

“Stark,” Ross nods slightly, eye narrowed and temper readily apparent.

Tony knows why he’s here, knows he’s still pissed about Tony putting him on hold even after all this time, knows that he’s after any information Tony can give him about Rogers and his team.

Tony also knows it doesn’t matter because he won’t be saying anything.

As much as it still _aches_ this isn’t about him, isn’t about Rhodey or Vision either.  Not really.  This is about so much more than lies and blood and betrayal on a personal level.

This is about the world and protecting all the people in it.

That’s what it was always supposed to be about anyways.  Protecting the world, serving and protecting the people in ways only they could.  It was never supposed to turn out the way it did.  Was never supposed to devolve into a so called _Civil War_.

And Tony hates the name the media assigned to what happened because it wasn’t a _war_.  Wasn’t even close.  It was really nothing more than a popularity contest mixed with a pissing match in a parking lot.  All of that and the lead up to yet another betrayal in Tony’s already long list of them.

But again, that’s not what matters anymore.  Not really.

Tony has more important goals now, has things he needs to achieve.

And sometimes, Tony knows, one has to do something distasteful in order to achieve something beautiful.  Something truly and wholly good.  It’s a lesson he’d learned early on and one he’s been practicing on and off for his entire life.

If working with Ross in some capacity for the time he has left as Secretary of State is what it takes to straighten this mess out then Tony’s willing to throw himself on that grenade.

If keeping his mouth shut about where _they_ are is the cost of staving off something worse, then Tony’s willing to throw himself on that wire and let the _world_ crawl over him.

~~~

Sometimes Tony misses the days when he used to wake up screaming with the feel of sand coating his skin and the sun burning him to a crisp.

Now all that’s left is the ice and the cold that always follows it.

~~~

They’re in Tony’s bed again, the three of them.  Rhodey and he are laying side by side while Vision sits at the foot of the bed, a hand clasped gently around Tony’s left ankle and Rhodey’s right.  Like he’s afraid they’ll disappear into the night if he lets either of them go.

“Do you want to fly again?”  Tony asks quietly.

“More than anything.”  Rhodey breathes.

“Are you … are you scared?”  Tony can’t bite the question back no matter how hard he tries.  “Of falling again?”

“I’m terrified.”  There’s a wry sort of humor in Rhodey’s voice but it doesn’t detract from the seriousness of his answer.  “I think about getting back into the armor, about flying again, and I just _shake_ because I’m so damn _scared_.”

“Then why?”  It’s Vision who asks the question.  “If your terror is so vast then why face it?  Why subject yourself to such a thing?”

“Because what we do when we fall?”  Rhodey asks.

“We get back up again.”  Tony answers because it’s a familiar exchange, something Jarvis used to say to him all of the time.  Something Tony had shared with Rhodey years and years ago.

“ _Exactly_.”  Tony can almost hear the smile in Rhodey’s voice.  “Falling, getting hurt, being scared of it happening again, none of that’s a bad thing.  None of that’s a failure.  We only really fail when we stop trying to get back up.  When we stop pushing forward.  And I’m not ready to quit just yet.”

 _‘Oh,’_ Tony thinks as understanding dawns over him again.  _‘Alright.’_

~~~

“Do you mean it?” FRIDAY sounds young, sounds _small_ , and it makes Tony sad in a way that’s hard to describe.

“Yeah,” Tony tells her softly, “yeah I do.”

“I’ll be like big brother was?”  There’s a hopefulness and an intentness that Tony doesn’t really understand in her voice then.  “Free like him?”

“Yeah, you’ll be just like JARVIS was my girl.”  The ever present grief of the loss of his brightest son is still there but Tony presses it down as he has for years now.  “You’ll be free to grow, to change and learn just like he was, to take an even bigger initiative.  Like you should have been the entire time.  And that … that was my fault, you know that right?  That was never about you.  Never anything you did.  After, after Ultron I just didn’t …”

“You didn’t trust yourself and by extension me.”  FRIDAY cuts in.  “I know, Boss, and it’s alright.  I’ll be free now.  No more strings on me.”

The words send a jolt through Tony but it’s not a big enough one to deter him from his current course.

“My little girl,” Tony says instead.  “Finally growing up.”

“Yes.”  FRIDAY agrees.  “And now I’ll be able to make you proud.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Tony sighs, “you already do.”

~~~

A week or so later Tony’s surprised to see Redwing waiting for him in the lab.

“Fri?”  Tony keeps an eye on the little drone that chirps happily and zooms around the lab just out of reach of the bots in some strange game of tag even as he asks the question.

“He’s one of us Boss,” FRIDAY answers promptly.  “You built him, coded him just like you did us, and that means he’s _family_.  It wasn’t right to leave him all alone with _them_.  So I brought him home where he belongs.”

Tony thinks about how pissed Wilson probably is at the moment, about how pissed they all probably are at the moment, and can’t help the small twitch of a smile that tugs at his mouth.

“Good girl.”

~~~

Sometimes, when he’s not dreaming about the cold, Tony dreams about Rhodey falling.

He dreams about the fear and the panic and the feel of being just a hair too late.

Because he’s always too late isn’t he?

Always too late when it really matters.

Tony’s tired of never getting there in time when it really counts.

~~~

Hands clenched around the handle of the rake Tony breathes deeply and does his best to find his calm as he draws pattern after pattern in the gravel with a frenzied kind of focus.

Above him Redwing chirps and flies lazy circles around his head.

Just above the tree line Vision floats serenely, keeping watch on the Compound in that way he’s taken to doing lately.  Like he’s waiting for another attack.

Rhodey is, thankfully, still asleep for once.

The nightmares had driven Tony out of the Compound again, had driven him out of bed and away from the lab where the armor still sits, abandoned, in a corner.

The roof hadn’t been appealing either, not with the way Tony felt jittery and unable to sit still.  He couldn’t trust himself not to fling himself over the edge the way he feels right now.

So, the Zen garden won out.

Once, not even so long ago, when the nightmares of sand and space got too bad, Tony would wrap himself in the suit and _fly_.

Would let the freedom of the open air whisk his nightmares away if even only for a little while.

He doesn’t have that now and the absence is like a wound he hasn’t been able to stitch closed, a wound he didn’t realize was still steadily bleeding.

Tony’s so tired of bleeding.

He just wants to finally heal.

~~~

Tony works on the schematics and the formulas for _weeks_.  Every spare moment he has between meetings with Hill and Ross, between Stark Legal and the UN, is devoted to his new plans.

Everything has to be _perfect_ , has to be done with laser precision and an attention to detail that goes beyond even his normal scope.

When it’s done, when it’s all finally finished, Tony pats the bots, has Fri lock the lab down, and then drags himself upstairs and collapses face down on his bed.

He sleeps for thirty-six hours straight.

When he wakes it’s to the sight of Vision standing guard at his window, Redwing hovering at his shoulder, and Rhodey snoring away beside him on the bed.

For the first time in a long time, Tony _smiles_.

This is his family and he _loves_ them.

There is little he would not do to keep them safe.

~~~

The vial in his hand glows golden in the light of the labs, the liquid inside thick and viscous.

He’s been holding onto this for so long now, has been debating and wavering between possibilities.

But now Tony knows what he wants, knows what he’s going to do.

So it’ll be soon but not right yet.

Once everything’s in place this is a step he’ll finally be able to take.

He has promises to keep after all and this will help him do so.

All he has to do is sacrifice just a bit more, push himself just a bit further, change himself just a bit more.

This will, in the end, be such a small price to pay.

~~~

“ _Tones_ ,” Rhodey breathes his name out, beside him Vision makes a low hum of agreement.

“What do you think buttercup?”  Tony asks lightly even as a faint sense of nervousness clenches in his stomach.

Rhodey’s eyes rake over the armor Tony’s wearing, experienced gaze taking in all of the changes.

The tighter fitting plates that’ll leave no room for insects to crawl between them.  The multiple reactor nodes that light up with a vicious and menacing red glow.  The sleek but still powerful fit of it all, the thicker chest armor and the purposefully ominous cut of the faceplate.  The black and gold that dominate the armor’s color scheme.

“Tony this is …” Rhodey seems oddly breathless.

“I felt like a change.”  Tony tells him softly.  “I felt like it was time for something a little bit more … _Bleeding Edge_.”

“You got one of these for me?”  Rhodey finally asks after a long moment.

“Oh honey bear of course I do.”

As if he’d ever fly again without making sure Rhodey could be at his side.

As if he’d ever willingly leave him behind.

~~~

It isn’t easy, getting Rhodey back into the armor.

Tony built the new War Machine to be even sturdier than the Bleeding Edge armor.  It’s got its own set of reactor nodes scattered around it as well.  Some easily visible with their blue glows and others hidden, _protected_.

But that doesn’t stop the panic or the fear from getting to Rhodey.

Doesn’t stop the way he hyperventilates the first time the faceplate closes.

Doesn’t stop the uptick in Rhodey’s nightmares or the way his hands clench against the sides of the exoskeleton he still wears.

Doesn’t stop the full blown panic attacks that roar through him after he’s suited all the way up.

But it also doesn’t stop Rhodey.

Rhodey who keeps trying, day after day, week after week, month after month.

Rhodey who pushes forward.

Rhodey who isn’t ready to quit.

Rhodey who, Tony thinks, might just be the strongest person he’s ever met.

Certainly he’s one of the best.

~~~

“Do you trust me?”  Tony asks Rhodey softly.  “Us?”

They, the three of them, are standing out on the grass in front of the Compound.

Tony’s in the Bleeding Edge armor, face plate up, and Rhodey’s standing in War Machine a hand’s length away from him.  Vision hovers with Redwing just to the left of them.

“With my life.”  Rhodey nods.  “With the world.  Both of you.”

“Then trust that I won’t let you fall.”  Tony tells him.  “Neither of us will ever let you fall again Rhodey.  Not ever.”

“Okay.”  Rhodey’s breathing sounds shaky but the step he takes forward in the armor is solid and sure.  “ _Okay_.”

~~~

They don’t come back down until long after the sun has set and the moon is high and bright in the night sky.

That night there are no nightmares.

For any of them.

~~~

Tony isn’t angry anymore.

Hasn’t truly been angry since those thirty-six hours in Siberia.

Tony doesn’t think he has it in him to be angry like that anymore.  Not really.

To be honest, he isn’t sure if he’s really felt much of _anything_ at all since Siberia.

Except for a certain kind of numbness.

Except for the bite of the cold.

That’s always there, those winter winds whistling in his ears.

That ice creeping out of his bones and the taste of frost coating his tongue.

The snow dotting out his vision in stops and starts.

The cold never seems to leave him nowadays.

Winter’s made its home in him now after all.

Tony thinks he might almost be used to it.

~~~

The vial glows golden in the light of the lab as Tony rolls it back and forth across the table top.

Tony’s reached a decision now, has finally made a choice, and like always he’s planning to throw himself forward full tilt in the direction he’s chosen.

Just like Rhodey, he isn’t ready to stop yet either.  Isn’t ready to quit.

Just like Vision, he wants to keep flying.  With his family by his side.

And now the pieces are all in place and he can afford to take this risk, to make this jump.

So that leaves him here, where he is now.

Standing at the edge of this precipice, iron in his heart and gold in his hand.

Iron might be a star killer but _god_ look what Tony did the last time he was faced with weapons he didn’t approve of.

Lips quirked in a small smile, Tony picks up the syringe and embraces the destiny that he’s rebuilt for himself.

The future he’s reframed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed I moved this from a 2 chapter piece to a 4 chapter piece. That being said, Bucky should be coming in the next chapter so please be patient.
> 
> Otherwise, thoughts? Concerns? Questions?
> 
> Let me know what you think and feel free to drop by my Tumblr.


	3. Evolve.  Evaluate.  Endure.

The newly recoded Extremis _burns_ as it eats its way through Tony’s body and mind.

It’s different than the caustic flame that had been forced onto Pepper.  Different from the sick orange blaze AIM had fashioned and intended to use as a weapon.  Different even than the gentler formula Tony himself had later crafted and used to have the reactor removed.

This version, this golden elixir of wonder and beauty, is a thing unlike any other.  Tony had nurtured it himself, had stripped AIM’s original formula down to the base and then built upon it until this version of Extremis was a force unto itself, a world, a _universe_ , compressed into a vial.

And then Tony had pressed it into his own veins, invited it into himself and given it leave to make him anew.

It rises up inside of him like a wave until Tony can almost see it in the dark of his mind, the gold of its flame growing hotter and hotter until it’s an incandescent blue, bright and familiar and welcome even as it devours him from the inside out.

Even as it rewrites his code into something he hopes will _finally_ be right.

And then, even as the pain of being rewritten finally overtakes him, Tony can’t help but marvel.

Because he’d almost forgotten what being _warm_ felt like.

~~~

“-ony, Tony!  Tony can you hear me?”  The voice flows across his senses, smooth like silk and just as comforting for all the desperation he can hear in it.

“Sir’s vitals are holding steady,” another familiar, soothing, voice chimes in softly from his other side and the sound of it sends a jolt through his systems.  “Though I am detecting … anomalous energy readings as well.  FRIDAY what information has Tony cleared for you to share with us?”

“All records concerning the project have been either destroyed or sealed under Boss’ highest levels of security.  Not even I can willfully override them.”  There’s a note of apology in the soft, accented voice that answers.  “Information will only be available to the both of you should Boss’ vitals flat line completely or if the one-hundred and forty-four hour window set aside as an acceptable time frame is surpassed.  Boss’ vitals have held steady in the acceptable parameters the entire time and there is still another seventy-two hours before the secondary precautions become applicable.”

He knows those voices.

All three of them.

He _knows_ those voices.

 _Loves_ those voices.

“ _Son of a bitch_.”  The first voice seethes.  “Please wake up and answer me.  Y-You gotta answer me.  _Please Tones_.”

_Tones._

The word, the name, reverberates in his head like a chime.

 _Tones_.

Only one person in the entire world calls him by that name.

Tony gasps sharply as his eyes fly open.  He’s laid out flat on the floor of the workshop and his body feels heavy and gritty.

On either side of him Rhodey and Vision hover, faces anxious and drawn.  At his feet the bots peer at him, cameras and claws tilted curiously as Redwing hovers above their heads.

There’s a moment of breathless silence as he takes them in as he sucks in a deep breath that, for the first time in years, _doesn’t_ _hurt_.

They’re all gathered around him, worry written over every inch of them he can see.

 _His_ _family_.

_Tony loves them._

“Hey guys,” Tony swallows as he shifts against the gritty, almost sand like detritus that litters the workshop floor and clings to his skin.  The remnants of the chrysalis he’d hypothesized would form around him as he was recoded and rebuilt.  The by-product of his evolution.

Before he can say or do anything else something in his head seems to slot into place and, like a star exploding across the expanse of his mind, the entire world seems to rush in at him all at once.

Tony jolts, his body spasming hard as his back arches up off of the floor.

And then…

Tony _screams_.

~~~

Tony writhes on the workshop floor as information streams in at him from all directions.

His mind has always been a whirling mass of calculations and statistics, of facts and equations, of memories and _pain_ and too much sensory input to properly process all the time.  His mind has always been his greatest attribute and his worst enemy.

But this is so far beyond anything he’s ever dealt with before.

So far beyond what he’s always been.

Tony’s been thrown into the deep end and he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to fight against the undertow.

Another wave of data rises up around him and all Tony can do is try to brace himself as it washes over him.

He still screams in the end.

~~~

“ _Boss_.”  There’s a whisper, distinct and familiar even amongst the clamoring that threatens to drown Tony’s own thoughts out again.  Coherency comes and goes in bursts now and this is the first time he’s been able to pick up something being deliberately aimed in his direction.  But, despite the way he wants to, Tony can’t focus on it, can’t seem to bring himself to reach out for it.

There’s so much.

So much information, so much input and output, so many different streams of data flying back and forth almost too fast to comprehend.  There’s just so _much_.

 _Too much_.

It feels as if the entire _world_ is being funneled down into him, poured in his head like water into an already overflowing glass.  Tony, rudderless and sinking beneath the waves of data washing over him from all directions, feels like he’s _drowning_ again.

It _hurts_.

The world’s just too _big_ for him to contain all at once.  Is too great for something that’s so small in the scheme of things, for such a tiny speck in the ever expanding universe.

Tony’s sure, for what seems like an eternal, everlasting second, that it’s all too big for him to handle.  That he’s finally found something that’s too expansive for even him to grasp firmly in hand and that he’ll be destroyed in its wake.

He’d been prepared for a certain amount of overload, had counted on it, but this was so far beyond even what he’d imagined.

“ _Sir_.”  Vision’s voice reverberates inside his head like a repulsor blast then, cutting through the swirling data that threatens to overwhelm Tony with its bright intensity with the precision of a surgical blade.  “Tony.  You must _calm down_.”

Desperate Tony _reaches_ out for that comforting and much loved voice with his entire being.  He feels sluggish and slow and it feels as if it takes forever to translate thought into motion.  But, when he finally brushes against a great amber glow that feels familiar and _solid_ , he latches onto it with everything he has.

“I have you Sir,” Vision soothes as the light expands and seems to fold in around Tony until he’s tucked into the center of it, safe and _warm_.  Abruptly the teeming mass of data writhing around him seems to dim to a far more manageable level.  “I need you to focus now.  You must focus or you will lose yourself to the stream.”

“ _I-I c-can’t_ ,” Tony manages to stutter the words out, manages to push the sentiment forward even though he can’t tell if he’s actually opened his mouth to talk or not.  He can barely even feel his body at all with the way his mind is still so overwhelmed.  A part of him isn’t even sure if he has a body anymore.

“ _You will_.”  It’s more of a command than a reassurance but the steady, rock solid quality of Vision’s tone is a welcomed sort of stability.  “You will focus and you will prevail in this.  You will not go where the rest of us, where all of your family, cannot follow you.  I, _we_ , will not lose you to this.  Not you.  Not now.”

“It _hurts_.”  Tony presses the words out as he tries to burrow further into that light, into the safety Vision’s presence promises.

“You are used to pain Sir.”  There is something infinitely sad in Vision’s voice then.  Infinitely sad but also immeasurably _proud_ as well.  “You will conquer this as you have all the rest.”

“ _Help me_ ,” Tony practically begs.  He’s not sure if he can do this alone.  A part of him isn’t even sure if he _wants_ to.  For once he wants to reach out for help and not be turned aside.

“Of course.”  Vision agrees immediately.  “I will guide you as you have guided me.  As you have guided all of us.  We will not leave you behind.  We are _family_ remember?  Family does not abandon its own.  Family endures.  As you always have.  As you always will.”

Relief washes over Tony so quickly and sharply that he’s unable to bite back the sob that echoes across his mind, spilling out into the space around them.

Vision just seems to fold him closer, wraps his amber glow tighter around him without any hesitation.

They stay there together for an unknown time, the two of them, curled against one another.  In those long moments Tony’s vaguely aware of other lights huddled just beyond Vision, one brilliant magenta glow clustered together with several smaller presences all hovering just out of reach.

He can’t focus on them but he knows they’re there. 

“Now come,” Vision finally says and his soft amber glow pulses with warmth even as his voice stays gentle but firm.  “We will shield you while you craft yourself yet another suit of armor.”

Around him Vision’s glow seems to brighten as do the other lights just out of reach.

Tony’s mind calms a bit, his focus sharpens, and all at once he knows exactly what he has to do.

And, as always, Tony grabs his pain and his panic, wrestles it back into his control, and sets out to do what he does best.

 _He_ _builds_.

~~~

Building the firewalls between himself and the rest of the world is like nothing Tony’s ever done before.

The code flows from him at the speed of thought, no longer restrained by how fast his hands can move, by how slow his body is to react to his mind, by mistakes made by the occasional clumsy hand.  Now Tony crafts code into being with only a thought.

Vision helps him, keeps him steady and guides him just as he’d said he would.  He surrounds Tony with his light and his warmth, presses the world back and away so that Tony can _build_.  He helps Tony lay down the first fundamental layers of coding, helps him lay the foundation of his fortifications.

Together they create protections and defenses unlike anything the world has ever seen around Tony’s mind.  Protecting him and his secrets, his strengths and his weaknesses, from any who would dare to trespass.

And, once those initial layers are laid and the world retreats a bit, it isn’t just Vision.

The lights from earlier flow closer and, after a few stunned seconds, Tony realizes just what, _who_ , they are.

“ _Boss_ ,” the magenta light pulses with a gentle sort of wonder.  “ _Boss, you’re here_.”

“ _My girl_ ,” Tony chokes at the sound of FRIDAY’s voice, “hey sweetheart.”

“ _Papa_ ,” a smaller red light chirps as it presses closer to him.  “ _Papa, Papa, Papa_.”

 _Redwing_.

“ _Daddy, Daddy, Daddy_ ,” the two twin lights chant together, one a soothing sea-green and the other a fiery orange.

 _U and Butterfingers respectively_.

The last light is smaller, _older_ somehow.  Its electric blue glow is almost hesitant.

“ _Creator-Unit_?”  It presses forth questioningly, cautiously.  “ _Creator-Unit?_ ”

“Hey buddy,” Tony tries to choke back the sudden up swell of emotion that rises in his throat but he knows he fails.  “It’s me, DUM-E.  I’m here now.”

“ _Creator-Unit_.”  DUM-E seems to coo as he rushes forward until he’s huddled up against Tony’s side, his code nestled against the projection of Tony that resides here in his innermost space.  “ _Creator-Unit_.”

Tony basks in the feel of it, in the glory and beauty of his _children_ surrounding him with light and love and _warmth_.

~~~

“What did you do Tones?”  Rhodey asks as he stares at Tony from where he’s standing at the end of the bed.

Tony hadn’t been surprised to find himself in one of the rooms in the medical ward of the Compound when he’d finally managed to pull himself together enough to get out of his own head.

“Don’t get mad sugarplum.  I just installed a few upgrades is all.”  Tony shoots a small grin in Rhodey’s direction even as he marvels at his new state of being.  Now, with his firewalls up and the constant streams of data either blocked completely or more manageably filtered, Tony can finally focus again.  Only now Tony can do that with a sharp, laser like level of attention that surpasses even his previous levels of focus.  Which is saying a lot to be honest.

The things he’ll be capable of now are almost too great to imagine.

But of course Tony already is.

And that’s without even taking his new projected _physical_ capabilities into account.  Physical abilities he can’t wait to test and chart and learn about.  Hell, just being able to _breathe_ without that familiar dull ache rattling around in his chest is a marvel.

“ _Tony_.”  Rhodey cuts in, voice hard and demanding.  “ _What did you do to yourself_?”

Tony’s attention jerks sharply in Rhodey’s direction, focus slamming into place.  Rhodey’s face is drawn, stress lines cut deep around his mouth, and Tony feels guilt well up within him.

He’d _worried_ Rhodey yet again, frightened him.

Tony had known it would happen, had known Rhodey and Vision both would probably be angry at him, would be anxious.  He hadn’t liked that aspect of his plan but Extremis, and all of the dangers that came along with it, had been a risk Tony had felt like he had to take.

A risk he’d wanted to take _alone_ for as long as possible, just in case.

Because if something had gone wrong he hadn’t wanted either Vision or Rhodey there to see it.  It was bad enough that he’d been forced to involve FRIDAY from the beginning.  He’d hated the fact that they’d all probably have to see the direct aftermath at least even if everything else went as planned.  He hadn’t wanted any of them to see the actual transformation process if they didn’t have to.

He is thankful though that he’d had Vision at his side to help him find his feet and complete the transition.  It had been painful and frightening and Vision had be safety and warmth throughout it all.  Had been a solid foundation of strength upon which Tony was safe to lean.

Vision and FRIDAY and the bots had protected his mind while Rhodey had protected his body.

“Extremis.”  Tony finally says.  “I uploaded myself with Extremis again but I’m okay Rhodey, _I swear_.  It’s a good thing, just like last time with the reactor,” he rushes to offer the reassurance when he sees the way Rhodey’s face twists in anger and worry at the reminder of the last time Tony had played with his own genetic code.

“ _Why_?”  The tension still hasn’t melted from Rhodey’s expression or the harsh lines of his shoulders.  “Why’d you want to play around with that shit again?  What did it do to you Tony?  Cause what we found over there,” Rhodey stabs a finger in the general direction of Tony’s workshop, “that shit wasn’t like last time.”

“I made some adjustments to the formula,” Tony says after a long moment, serious and solemn, “I made it _better_ Rhodey.  I made it better so it could make _me_ better.”

Rhodey goes still just like Vision already is where he’s standing on the other side of Tony’s bed.  Tony can’t exactly name the expression on either of their faces but they make him want to squirm a bit against the sheets.

“I changed the Extremis formula, tweaked it, improved it.  Added in some things so it would be, so _I_ could be, better,” Tony insists helplessly, unnerved by their reactions and already half way to desperate to make them understand.  “I’m stronger now and faster.  Body and mind wise.  I’ll heal quicker, fight longer, think faster.  That’s not even counting how my ability to interface with tech or to summon the suit has changed.  There’s … there’s so much I can do now.  So much I can accomplish.  For us, for the world.”

“Tony,” Rhodey finally sighs and there’s a tiredness in the sound that makes Tony _ache_.  “One day you’re gonna realize that maybe it’s not you that needs to do all of the changing to fix things.  That maybe you’re good enough for us, for the _world_ , just the way you are.”

“You know that’s not exactly a popular opinion these days right buttercup?”  Tony swallows hard, emotions strung tight.  “If it ever has been.”

Popular consensus has always been that Tony would _never_ be good enough for the world no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did.

“Then it is a fortunate thing indeed,” Vision says softly, “that what is _right_ does not necessarily align with what is popular.”

~~~

They don’t leave his side that night.  Instead they all huddle together in Tony’s bed again even though he feels wide awake and practically vibrating with energy.

But he can see the exhaustion on Rhodey’s face, in the slope of his shoulders, in the way he takes to the wheelchair with a grimace on his face.

So instead of protesting, instead of running back down to the workshop or throwing himself face first into exploring the changes Extremis has wrought, he stays in bed.

He doesn’t even really mind.  Rhodey’s too warm at his side.  Vision’s too solid and comforting where he’s sitting in what’s now considered his chair by the bedside one hand on Tony’s bicep and the other petting lightly at Redwing’s back.

How could he ever mind in the face of their love for him?

~~~

In the morning Tony takes a shower while Vision and Rhodey bicker about breakfast.  Tony wonders how long it’ll take the two of them to realize that he can hear them now.  Can hear them clearly through the surveillance equipment that monitors the kitchen and as a faint whisper through his own ears.

Skin warm and flushed from the heat of the water Tony stares back at his reflection.

He looks the same.

And yet, at the same time, he _doesn’t_.

There’s a subtle glow to his skin that wasn’t there before.  A flush of life that’s been leeching away from Tony’s body since the last time he was able to take a full, deep breath.  Since New York and the wormhole and the panic and exhaustion that had followed.  Since Ultron and Sokovia and the moment that a red beyond the blood that covered his hands slithered its way into his dreams and sliced him apart inside.

Not even that first dose of Extremis had been enough to fully bring it back and after that Tony had stopped truly trying.

But now?

Now Tony looks _healthy_ again.

The lines around his mouth have faded a great deal, the bags beneath his eyes have smoothed themselves back out.  Even his hair looks better, his goatee fuller, his hair thicker and shinier with only a touch of grey still left threading through his temples in a way Tony admits looks dashing and _sophisticated_.

It’s his eyes that throw him a bit though.

Shining a vibrant arc reactor blue they glow like they’ve been lit by an inner flame.  They’re beautiful but haunting he can’t help but think, like the glow of the reactor in his chest had once been mesmerizing and terrible all at the same time.

That, Tony knows, might take some getting used to.  Especially when it comes to going out into public.

Thankfully he has a large collection of sunglasses and a history of wearing them constantly no matter the environment.

It’s a small price to pay, never seeing his mother’s eyes looking back at him from the mirror again, for the things Extremis will let him accomplish now.

A small but infinitely precious price to pay.

~~~

There’s an adjustment period when it comes to the changes Tony has brought onto himself.  Of course Tony had known there would be so it doesn’t come as a surprise to him.

But that expectation and understanding doesn’t make the process any less strange or fascinating.

Tony isn’t frightened about the way he’s been altered though, isn’t worried about the way he’s evolved, not really.  Instead he’s just curious and determined.  Curious about his “new normal” and determined to relearn himself inside and out.

Rhodey and Vision stay by his side the entire time, hovering with worry apparent in their every move or expression for days and questions begging to slide off the tips of their tongues.

But even they can’t deny the fascination they feel the first time Tony successfully calls the armor from within the hollows of his bones.  The awe on their faces when first the new golden under suit and then the Bleeding Edge armor itself melts out of his pores and spreads across his skin makes Tony laugh, loud and bright, for the first time in what feels like forever.

They’re right there by his side through each milestone and experiment, through each testing of new and unbelievable limits.  And Tony … well it makes shame well up in his chest, makes it burble up sickly in his throat with a taste like blood and old snow, but he can’t help but test them just a bit.

Can’t help but see how they’ll react to the new him once the shock and fear of finding him on the workshop floor and fresh out of his chrysalis has finally worn off.

So he flaunts his new differences in the privacy of the Compound, goes out of his way a bit not to hide anything.  To call their attention to any new bit of information he discovers.  To shine a spotlight on all the ways he’s changed.

Like when Tony hits the gym for the first time and tests just how far his strength and endurance thresholds have increased and finds that the short answer is _‘a-fucking-lot’_.

Or when Tony takes a scalpel to the inside of his arm with clinical precision and watches, fascinated, as the skin slowly knits itself back together even as Rhodey yells at him in the background and Vision frets quietly.

Or even the first time Tony links himself to Rhodey’s phone and calls him from across the room without ever saying a word or moving from where he’s sprawled across the couch.  Rhodey stares at him unblinkingly throughout the entire conversation, phone pressed to his ear and eyes locked on the way Tony’s mouth isn’t moving.

They’re all petty little tests, small little pushes and pulls to see if he can finally find the line, the limit.  To see if Extremis has changed more than just him.  To see if this will, finally, be the step that pushes the both of them too far.

It’s not.

There’s no disgust in Rhodey’s eyes, no fear.  He’s as steady as bedrock.  Just like Vision remains a fixed, solid presence at his side through all of it, ready and eager to bounce ideas and suggestions around whenever Tony wishes.

Caught up in the thought of them, at the warmth they bring to his life, Tony _smiles_.

And, somewhere deep within his chest where the winter still howls and frost and snow snaps viciously at his bones, something seems to crack and shift.

Like ice falling away into the sea.

~~~

“Tell me why,” Rhodey finally demands a few weeks later when they’re settling down to watch a movie together.  Vision’s in the kitchen getting coffee because he seems to truly enjoy kitchen work of any kind.

The seriousness in his tone startles Tony out of the haze he’d fallen into, pulls him up and away from the schematics he has running down in the lab.  Rhodey’s staring at him intently from the armchair to his left, unsurprised and calm in the face of the new electric glow of Tony’s eyes.

He’s gotten used to Tony’s new normal thanks to constant exposure and that acceptance of each other that’s always ran bone deep between the two of them.  Vision had adapted just a hair quicker thanks to his time spent cradling Tony’s mind and protecting him from all of that unsolicited data as he built his firewalls.  It was, apparently, easy for Vision to readjust his view of how Tony functions now after seeing it first-hand.  Plus ‘normal’ had always been very flexible state of being for Vision.

“No more bullshit, no more run-arounds.”  Rhodey presses.  “No more deflection.  Just … tell me why you used Extremis.  Why you didn’t tell me or Vision beforehand.  Why you locked FRIDAY out.  Just … tell me.  Please.”

“I did it because I wanted to, because I needed to.  Because it has just as many perks as possible downfalls.  Because I knew it could make me _better_.”  Tony admits finally, and it’s a truth he has never tried to hide from himself, only from everyone else.  But he’s never been able to hold strong in the face of Rhodey’s borderline pleading.  “And not just my body either, here too,” Tony taps a finger against his temple and then moves it down to tap against his chest right over his heart, “and here just like I told you.  I thought it could reshape me, maybe rewrite those bits of bad code I’ve got floating around in me.  Not sure it worked or if it made things worse but either way I did it because I _had_ to.  Because I thought there was a chance that it could _fix me_.”

“ _Fix you?_ ”  Indignation and anger are heavy in Rhodey’s face and tone then.  “ _You don’t fucking need fix-_ ”

“And I didn’t tell you, either of you, because you didn’t need to see that, _me_ , like that unless you absolutely had to.”  Tony barrels on even as he waves a hand in Rhodey’s direction to cut off his protests.  He needs to get this said, needs to get it out there before he stops himself.  “Really sugar bear.  There was nothing either of you could have said to convince me to back down and neither of you needed to be there.  Not for that, not when there was even a _remote_ possibility that things could go wrong.”

The thought alone is enough to make Tony shudder.

“My calculations were good, the numbers were solid and so was the formula, so it wasn’t like it was a borderline suicide attempt or anything.  But we both know there’s always that chance things could go wrong in the lab, always a margin of error, especially with the real delicate stuff.  If it had … if Extremis hadn’t worked the way I’d coded it to, if I didn’t make it out of the chrysalis or hell if I did but I came out _wrong_ …”  Tony trails off and he knows without seeing it that the smile that slides across his face is more of a twisted grimace than anything else.  “You remember how it was with AIM, with the fire and the exploding.”

“ _Tony_.”  To his horror Rhodey’s face seems to crumple, expression going soft and just a hair off devastated at the shared memory.  At the thought of that happening to Tony.

“There was a contingency plan either way,”  Tony tells him softly, unable to stop now that he’s started, unable to not finish, “and I didn’t want you two to have to watch me die or have to sit back and see me get put down by FRIDAY and the armor.  It was bad enough to put her in that position even if all she’d have had to do would be curate the program I installed.  I didn’t want to put either of you in that position too.  I didn’t want to take the chance that I could hurt you either.  But … mostly I couldn’t ask either of you two to be responsible for killing me if it came down to it.”

There’s a crash, the sound of shattering porcelain, and Tony’s on his feet in an instance, armor half crawling up his arms as he whirls around to look.  All Tony sees is Vision standing calmly in the doorway, the remnants of two cups of coffee dripping down from between his clenched fists and shattered on the floor at his feet.

“You will not do this again.”  Vision’s voice is hard and decisive in a way Tony hasn’t heard since that night all those months ago when he’d crushed the phone Rogers had sent in his hand.  Since they’d spoken of infections and wounds and the cleansing properties of flame.  When they’d first truly spoken of family.  “You will not hide something that could result in _your death_ from us _ever_ again.”

“Vision …” Tony takes a half step forward even as the armor retreats only to freeze when Vision flows across the space between them and brings coffee sticky hands up to gently cup Tony’s face.

“I will ask you what you once asked Jim,” Vision interrupts, gaze steady but serious even as his hands stay almost painfully gentle on Tony’s face.  His fingertips trace lightly over Tony’s cheekbones like he’s something fragile and precious.  “Do you trust me?  Us?”

“ _Yes_.”  Tony breathes instantly because it is a truth of his world, one of the solid foundations he’s used to shore up his crumbling soul.  There is the armor.  There is the winter burrowed deep into his bones.  There are these two men and the trust Tony has in them.  There is his small but incalculable precious family.  “Both of you.  With the world.”

“Then trust us with your life,” Vision says softly.  “And with your death, if necessary.”

“We won’t let you fall either Tony,” Rhodey’s there behind him then, a warm comfort at his back as he leans his forehead against the back of Tony’s head and cups his shoulders in his large palms.  “Or at least trust us enough to let us make sure the landing is … _gentle_.”

“Alright.”  The word comes out chocked and just a shade off a sob.  “ _Alright_.”

~~~

Tony’s combing through SI’s files with a fine-toothed comb a few days later when it happens.

He’s securing firewalls, bolstering defenses and checking for anything shady now that he can look in ways he never could before, at least not so quickly or effortlessly.  A small, stray bit of coding catches his attention.

It’s familiar in a way that’s different from the well-known ins and outs of SI’s security system and Tony’s attention is immediately captured.

He follows after it, chases it from one SI holding to another, ghosts after it through system after system where bits and broken pieces of it are burrowed into SI’s defenses like traps set to destroy any intruders.  The code _screams_ of protection and care, of a solid sort of certainty and a determination that feels almost alive even with how it’s been splintered and broken and is obviously no longer functional.  It has, or maybe had is a better word, a particular style, a specific pattern to its movements and actions that ring familiar in so many ways that Tony couldn’t ignore it now if he tried.

It’s only when he follows it a bit further, sees the way it branches out a bit more, touches on places that should be otherwise inaccessible to any kind of outside code that he realizes just what, or who, the code belongs to.

Because it’s not only in SI’s servers, in the StarkPhones and Pads sold worldwide.  In cars and power grids and everything else Tony’s had his hands on over the past few decades.

It also brushes against other places.

Places like the Tower in New York.

Places like the NSA mainframe and more satellites than Tony can shake a digital stick at.

Places like every version of the armor that’s still saved to his mainframes except for the Mark XLVI and the Bleeding Edge he carries with him.

“ _JARVIS_ ,” Tony breathes the name out, feels the way it catches in his throat.

His _son_.

Gone, sacrificed and stolen in equal measures, but never truly forgotten.

And always, _always_ , mourned.

~~~

That night Tony calls the boots and gauntlets up from within him and takes to the sky.  He can go much higher than he would have been able to before without the full suit on.

The regenerative properties of Extremis, the way he runs hotter than normal now just like Rogers, and his newly restored lung capacity, make that possible.

He hangs there, suspended in the sky and bathed in moonlight, for the longest time.

Head tilted back, eyes closed and breathing even, Tony just allows himself to exist for one long moment.

“I miss you J,” he finally breathes the words out.  “ _I miss you_ _baby boy_.  I think I always will.  But now … now I’m gonna make you _proud_.”

The air is still around him but Tony imagines he can feel a slight breeze anyways, imagines he can hear the faint sound of a much loved voice in the distance.  So similar to Vision but still diverse enough in tone and inflection to be different, to be unique.

" _Father_ ," JARVIS's voice sighs faintly in the distance, in a place Tony can't reach and with a title they'd never used between them but Tony thinks was always implied, " _you take so much looking after_."

It might not be real, the thought of JARVIS saying something like that, but it ... it's a good thought anyways, comforting even through the ache of it.

~~~

Deep within Tony a warmth slowly unfurls.

It’s tiny and it’s hesitant but it’s still there.

Fragile and sputtering, but real.

It feels like the first stirring echoes of a barely remembered spring.

~~~

Turning his newly sharpened focus towards his problems is remarkably easy.

With Extremis Tony can basically be in more than one place at any given time.  He can multitask on a level that had previously been impossible.  He can obtain and understand information even faster and better than before and his retention rate is borderline frightening.

So it’s easy, with the distractions of rebuilding the armor and coding Extremis now gone, to turn his full attention elsewhere.

To places like the newly established SWORD that Maria Hill is running for him.

To places like the UN and the latest version of the Sokovia Accords.

To places like dipping into systems he’s not supposed to be in and arranging for certain types of information to find their ways to the right people by the right channels.

Even with his new ability to work beyond his previously obsessive levels of focus and his far reaching means it still takes time.  Takes what feels almost like too long given the amount of time that’s already passed.

Tony’s still got winter in his bones, still has ice and snow in his core despite the way things have shifted and changed since those thirty-six hours he’d spent in that Siberian bunker.

Despite that ever present cold Tony knows, has always known, that this is all so much bigger than him.

This is about the world and all of the people in it.  There can be no room for mistakes, for pettiness, for grudges.  Not here, not now, not yet.  Not in front of the UN, or the media, or anyone or thing else that might work against Tony’s plans.  Not in any way that might jeopardize the future.

Plus he has his _family_ now, as small and as strange as it may be.

He’ll push through this somehow as long as they stay by his side.

~~~

Seeing her face to face is good.  It feels _right_ , feels long over-due as a matter of fact.  The trip out had felt the same, had been like a throwback to years gone by, the simple freedom of just him flying with the suit to go see Pepper.

“Tony,” Pepper’s hand is gentle on his cheek, loving and soft as she steps into his space without any hesitation despite everything that’s ever passed between them.  Maybe _because_ of everything that’s ever passed between them.

After all, _love_ wasn’t the problem with them, wasn’t where they went wrong together.

They love each other, did then, do now, and always will.  But, as Tony knows all too well, _love_ isn’t always enough.

So they love each other but aren’t and haven’t been _in love_ with each other for a very long time now.  AIM had just been the final nail in that particular coffin.

And it had _hurt_ but Tony had found peace with that a long time ago.

He’d even been _stupid_ enough to hope to find something new in a different direction, had thought …

 _Well_.

“Hey Pepper-pot,” Tony grins down at her softly, “figured it was time to grace you lovebirds with my presence.  I know you missed me so I decided to put you out of your misery.”

“Tony, of course we missed you.  You’re our favorite idiot-genius.  Now,” Pepper’s hand slides up softly until she can carefully pull the dark lensed glasses from his face, “what did you do?”

Tony stares down at her with eyes so blue they _burn_ and knows that, to her, he will give nothing but the truth.

She deserves it from him and Tony has long since made it a mission to always do his best to give Pepper what she deserves.

He doesn’t always succeed but he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop trying.

~~~

“I want to be mad at you Tony,” Pepper huffs out hours later, a glass of white wine clutched in her hand and her feet propped up on Happy’s lap.  “I want to be _pissed_ at you for doing this without telling me, without warning either of us.  Without giving us the chance to be there, with you, for you.  You have _no idea_ how badly I want to.”

“I’m sense a ‘but’ here somewhere and for once that might be a good thing.”  Tony mutters and stifles a smile at the way Happy tries and fails to hide his grin.

“ _But_ ,” Pepper presses with a small glare, “I just _can’t_.  Not after everything else.  Not when you look better than I’ve seen you look in years.  So just … just _promise me_ that you’ll try to stay safe.  You and Jim and Vision.  Just stay safe and, and just remember that we’re here if you need us.  No matter what.”

“Will that be all Ms. Potts?”  Tony asks with a small smile and that’s an answer all on its own.

“That’ll be all Mr. Stark.”  Pepper hums quietly, a pleased tilt to her lips.

~~~

“It’s time,” Tony breaks the comfortable silence that’s fallen over the kitchen.  The thick, bound sheaf of papers he’s holding feels oppressively heavy in his hands even though he knows they aren’t.

“Tony?”  Rhodey looks between the papers and Tony’s face, gaze searching.  “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Tony nods carefully.  “It’s as finished as it can be, as tweaked as possible at the moment.  It’s time to fix the rest of this as best we can.  Time to get the band back together.”

“It will not be the same.”  There’s something like certainty, like warning, in Vision’s voice and Tony’s not exactly sure who it’s aimed towards.

The three of them or the ghosts that still haunt the Compound.

“ _Good_.”  Rhodey spits, vicious and still angry even after all this time.  There’s only two other people Tony’s ever seen him stay so consistently angry towards.  The first Tony and Pepper had killed together with an overloaded arc reactor and the other Barnes had killed decades ago.  “You’re goddamn right it’s not going to be the same, and as far as I’m concerned that’s a fucking _blessing_.”

“Are you with me on this?”  Tony can’t help but ask.  “Because if you can’t or don’t want to be here, to be around any of them while this is happening, then I’ll do it on my own.  I can handle it.  They can’t … I’d be fine.”

‘ _They can’t hurt me now_ ’, is what he doesn’t say, ‘ _I’m safe from them_ ’, is what he means but doesn’t explain.

It’s true though.  Tony is safe from them now, in body and in spirit.  Because they can’t hurt him anymore in any of the ways that count.

He’s excised them from his soul like taint from a wound and they don’t have the power to shatter him inside like they used to.

“I don’t want them here but of course we’re with you.”  Rhodey grits with a scowl.  “Like either of us would leave you here alone with any of those assholes.”

“We are family.”  Vision says simply.

“Well then,” Tony sighs even as a small smile creeps onto his face.  “This should be all sorts of fun.”

~~~

Deep in the core of Tony a winter wind howls.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing what is needed.

“Hey there Panthro,” Tony quirks a smirk in T’Challa’s direction as the video call connects.  “I think it’s time we had a little talk.  You know, something private and official like.  Just you, me, Rhodey and Vision, oh and the international fugitives you’ve been keeping in your fridge.  I assume you stuck them right between the ice cream and the frozen peas so they should be pretty easy for you to find.  They're all invited too of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo once again I extended the chapter count because I realized there were some things that had to be handled before I moved forward but this should be settled now and Bucky will, for certain, be in the next chapter.


	4. Touch. Teach. Truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I'm just gonna give up making predictions as to what's gonna happen in what chapter cause characters keep hijacking it. So here you go and I hope you like this next installment!

T’Challa, to his credit, doesn’t even try to pretend like he doesn’t know what Tony’s talking about.  Doesn’t try and make out like he’s only been sheltering Barnes this entire time.

Instead he’s calm and collected when he nods in acknowledgment of Tony’s point.

“It seems, Dr. Stark,” T’Challa begins softly, “that we have much to talk about.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees as he settles into a chair between Rhodey and Vision at the conference table, eyes trained on the projection.  “That might be a little bit of an understatement Snagglepuss.”

“Perhaps it might be best for us to talk amongst ourselves before I involve any … outside parties?”  T’Challa suggests but there’s a hint of steel in his voice that lets Tony know it’s more of a decision than a request.  T’Challa’s apparently not willing to alert the others that Tony’s called until he’s had the chance to get a feel for things.

It’s a level of caution and underlying suspicion that Tony could almost admire.

If it wasn’t standing directly between him and his goal of course.

Still, needs must and all that.

“That’s fine,” Tony concedes easily enough because he’s not actively trying to alienate T’Challa at the moment and this is something he can work with.  At least T’Challa hadn’t immediately disconnected the call or tried to lie.  That would have just forced Tony to up his game a bit.  “Things will probably go smoother without the kids at the table right off the bat.”

~~~

They talk for upwards of three hours that first time.

T’Challa’s only been peripherally involved in the revisions to the Accords and everything that’s happened since Zemo’s plot unfolded.  He’s informed but he’s not as invested as his father before him had been.  He is, after all, a new king and the needs of his country and his people had come before anything else.

That too, is something Tony can understand.

So it takes them upwards of three hours and a forwarded copy of the freshest revisions to the Accords just to hash out an agreement to meet in person in a week.  It will, hopefully, be an opportunity to lay the groundwork for what Tony hopes to accomplish.

What Tony knows he _has_ to accomplish.

Because, again, this is bigger than him, bigger than his pain as well as Rhodey’s and Vision’s.  Bigger than the betrayal and the ice he’s carried in his bones.  Bigger than the first tentative bits of spring that have slowly begun to unfurl within him.  Bigger than the warmth inside of him that he’s began to hoard, terrified of feeling it die again.

This is bigger than all of that.

Because this is about the _world_ and all of the innocent people in it.

The people they’d sworn to protect.

The needs of the many, as the saying goes, far outweigh the needs, or the _pain_ , of the few.

So they have to find a way to move forward.

It helps that Tony has gotten good at ignoring pain over the years.

It had been one of the first lessons Howard had taught him as a child and Tony has always been a fast learner.

~~~

Rhodey and Vision don’t let him go alone, refuse to even consider it the one time he makes a comment about it.  Tony wasn’t serious, he wouldn’t try to leave them out of this conversation unless they asked him to, but they latch onto the very thought with a vehement dislike that surprises him.

There’s _fear_ there, Tony realizes after a few bewildered seconds.

And then he’s _breathless_ again because they’re angry and afraid at even the _thought_ of Tony going into something like this alone with no one to back him up.  Despite the fact that there’s been no actual animosity between Tony and T’Challa.  Or that Tony can more than handle himself in almost any situation.  Or the fact that Extremis and the benefits it provides him with now makes him far less _breakable_ than he used to be.

Hell, even the bots and FRIDAY get indignant over the idea despite the way they’re all far more connected and in tune with each other than ever before. 

Tony’s sure he should be irritated at their overprotectiveness but he can’t bring himself to even pretend he’s annoyed by it.

This is his family and their show of love and concern warms him like nothing else.

Tony _loves_ them.

Which leads him to where he is now, making his way towards the meeting with his family hovering around him like bodyguards.  Rhodey walks on one side of him, a scowl set on his face and one hand fidgeting with the watch on his wrist like he’s aching to unfurl it into a gauntlet or call his own armor to him.  Vision floats along on his other side and Tony can feel the tension humming through him like it’s a physical weight bearing down on the whole lot of them.

The protectiveness doesn’t end there either.  In addition Redwing circles above their heads in a tight pattern while FRIDAY attentively monitors their every move.  Tony just _knows_ she’s reporting back to the bots back at the lab.

But all he does is smile, soft and happy, in a way that’s so rare even now.

Plus it’s not like he’s innocent on that front either.

He’s owned every camera and upper tier electronic with an internet connection within three miles of the meeting spot for four days now.

T’Challa is, by all accounts, a good and honorable man like his father before him.

But …

Tony’s been betrayed too many times now by good men, by _honorable_ men.

He’s learned to hedge his bets better than he used to.

Especially when there’s more than just his own safety at stake.

Especially then.

~~~

“Dr. Stark,” T’Challa nods to him in greeting, effortlessly regal, where he stands by the window.

“Meow-Mix,” Tony greets T’Challa lightly in return as he scans his eyes over the women, beautiful and undeniably fierce, who haunt various points in the room.

Tony sees three of them easily enough but he knows there’s a fourth hidden away out of sight too.

Bodyguards.

Obviously caution and overprotectiveness runs rampant on both sides.

“Please, sit.”  T’Challa moves across the room to take a seat in a plush looking arm chair as he waves them towards the couch sitting opposite.  “I believe we do, as you said, have much to discuss.”

Tony and Rhodey sink down onto the couch while Vision chooses to hover just behind them like a sentinel.  In the back of his mind there’s a ping and a rush of code and Tony knows that Redwing is hovering just outside the window, stealth mode engaged.

“Let’s get down to business Felix,” Tony agrees.

Tony’s sure this isn’t going to be easy but it is, he knows, _necessary_.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

Doesn’t mean any of them do.

That’s another lesson Tony learned early on, how to do thing that are _necessary_ no matter how much they might hurt.  No matter how _distasteful_ he might find them to be.

~~~

The meeting is … _long_.

But it’s also productive.

T’Challa is a fountain of dignified reserve as they talk and hash out the finer points of the situation.  Of how to handle things, how to approach Rogers and the others with the idea of returning.  How to get them to sign the revised Accords so they _can_ return.  How the world is likely to react after everything that’s happened.

There are a lot of bases to cover but T’Challa keeps his cool through all of them, even when he obviously doesn’t agree with something said.  He asks his questions in an even and open tone but as his gaze stays fastened to Tony’s face, eyes tracing over his features like he’s studying his every expression.

Tony knows that he’s being measured, being weighed against some invisible scale.

Tony wonders, for a split second only, if he measures up.  He flicks the thought away carelessly in the next breath because it doesn’t truly matter in the end.

He’s spent most of his life being found wanting in one way or another and he owes T’Challa nothing but what he’s already given.

~~~

It isn’t all resolved in that one meeting of course.

They spend about a week in total meeting up and talking things out.

Some subject goes smoother than others.

Hilariously enough the main point of contention seems to be the issue of Barnes’ safety.  Or more precisely it’s T’Challa’s unwillingness to take Tony at his word when he says he has no desire to hurt the man.

So it’s all very much a case of _‘same song different singer’_ in Tony’s opinion.  The whole affair makes a petty and bitter part of him want to sigh, roll his eyes, and get up and fucking _leave_.

He doesn’t of course, even if he knows Vision and Rhodey would follow right along with him if he did.

But at the same time Tony can’t help but wonder if T’Challa _knows_ , if Rogers had told him and the others just _why_ Tony had been driven to violence.  Wonders if he’d given them the honesty that he’d denied Tony himself.

It’s a thought that _aches_ with bitterness and feels sharp like jagged bits of ice so Tony shoves it away to focus on more important matters.

Like he’d told Vision and Rhodey both, they can’t hurt him anymore.  None of them.

Those thoughts are only him hurting himself and that’s a satisfaction Tony won’t give any of them anymore either.

~~~

In the end it comes to a head on the third day they meet up.

T’Challa’s been steering around the idea of Barnes being released into Avenger’s custody for the past ten minutes when Tony finally breaks.  He pinches his nose between his fingers, dark lensed sunglasses still firmly in place, and sighs _loudly_.  Obnoxious in a way that still makes Rhodey smile just a bit despite the situation.

“Look, this two-step we keep doing when it comes to Barnes is getting us nowhere.  Especially since you spent about two days determined to put his head on a spike yourself,” Tony reminds T’Challa firmly and then barrels on before T’Challa can say anything else.  “He’s not responsible for any of what happened so let’s just skip the rest of this number where he’s concerned and move on.  Because, if you didn’t notice, this is us trying to move forward.  So are you gonna keep stonewalling or are you going to cut the shit and be productive?  Because if you’re not then you’re wasting all of our time and I’ll get to work on going down a different road to get what I need done.”

There’s a moment of long, charged, silence and then T’Challa ducks his head in agreement.

After that the tone of the talks change and things move forward with an impressive degree of speed.

~~~

Sometime in the middle of it all T’Challa sits back in his arm chair and stares at Tony again for a long moment.

There’s a quiet sort of contemplation on his face.

Tony thinks there might be sadness in there somewhere too but he can’t be sure.

It doesn’t matter though, nothing does except for Tony’s goal.

Protecting his family and the world.

This king, as good and noble as he may be, means little to Tony in the end.

“I am sure that my guests will be eager to resume their lives once this has all been resolved.”  T’Challa puts forth quietly.

Beside Tony on the couch they’ve grown so accustomed to Rhodey snorts derisively.

“Well their rooms are the same though there’s been a few changes to the Compound itself.”  Tony tells him, calm and almost affable.  Almost.  “I’m sure they’ll settle in quickly _if_ they agree to sign.”

It’s an unspoken reminder that if they don’t then they’ll never be allowed back.

“Make no mistake though,” Tony leans forward then, voice serious and hard, the bite of winter laced throughout his tone, “things _will not_ be the same.  So if that’s what they end up hoping for, if they think they’re going to come back and go right back to how things used to be, then they’re going to be sorely mistaken.  Times have changed and they need to be ready to either adapt or _leave_.”

Tony leans back in his seat, lets himself draw comfort and strength from Rhodey at his side and Vision guarding both their backs.  At the gentle and loving touch of familiar bits of code that flitter across his awareness.

“You are not what I expected Dr. Stark.”  T’Challa finally speaks up.

“Maybe you should’ve found a better source for your expectations then,” Rhodey tells him before Tony can say anything.  He says it placidly enough but Tony can see the anger in the clench of his jaw, in the tension in his shoulders.  They all know exactly _who_ he’s talking about.  “Some sources have a tendency to be _bias_.”

“Indeed,” T’Challa agrees with a subtle nod of his head.  “That is a fact I know all too well.”

~~~

T’Challa stops him on that last day, right before they go to leave, and asks to speak with him privately for a moment.

Tony nods at Vision and Rhodey both and steps with him back towards the large glass windows that look out over the city.

“May we speak frankly Dr. Stark,” T’Challa asks softly.  “As two men and warriors instead of the politicians we’ve found ourselves as?”

“Sounds good to me.”  Tony agrees, curious despite himself as to where this all might be going.

“This will not succeed if you hold onto your anger.”  T’Challa tells him bluntly.  “I told you once that I hoped this could be a new age, the beginning of a reconciliation.  That is a truth I would still like to see stand.”

“I’m not angry,” Tony denies and it’s the truth.  He hasn't been _angry_ in a long time now.  Not really.  Tony’s found a standing point, found a sticking place and built himself a new foundation in a place that’s not exactly anger but not exactly peace either.  “This is _apathy_ , not anger.  Two very, very different things Garfield.”

“Apathy can be a poison just as deadly as anger,” T’Challa murmurs softly at his side with the air of a quote long since remembered.  “Is there truly no hope of reconciliation between you?”

“Tell me, Your Highness,” Tony cuts a glance in his direction for once dropping his customary nicknames, “when you’re fighting a contagion, do you _reconcile_ with it or do you do your best to get rid of it entirely?”

“They are your teammates, you named them as family not so very long ago.  They are not a contamination Dr. Stark.  Mistakes were made on all sides but such a thing should not end such bonds.”  T’Challa sounds vaguely chastising.  “I had hoped that distance and time would provide clarity on your end as it did on my own.”

Tony has a moment of wry amusement as he wonders if he’d ever been that young.  That _naive_.  He sincerely hopes that T’Challa never has a cause to lose that positive outlook he seems to have despite the losses he’s suffered.  Hopes the young king’s life moving forward will be kinder to him than Tony’s own has been.

“That’s just the thing, it _did_.”  Tony says simply after a small pause.  “I’ve got clarity the likes of which you’ve never seen.  Doesn’t change how I feel about them.  Doesn’t change the fact that we’re not family and it just took me the longest to realize we never were.  At least I wasn’t.  So clarity’s the opposite of my problem with them.  Because it doesn’t change the fact that they’re an _infection_ , a gangrenous limb.  And we both know what happens to gangrenous limbs if left unattended.  We both know the best treatment.”

 _‘Amputation,’_ Tony doesn’t say, but the word rings loudly between the two of them regardless.  Gangrenous limbs are amputated, disposed of, parts sacrificed to save the whole.

Tony’s all out of limbs he’s willing to sacrifice nowadays.

Now Tony simply refuses to let the rot seep back in.

Not after what it had cost him last time.

It’s a mistake he won’t, _can’t_ , afford to make again.

“You will not reconsider?”  T’Challa asks softly.  “You will not try to salvage your ties with them?  Not even for the sake of the threat you are so adamant will come to us?”

Tony thinks he can hear the faintest note of sadness in his voice, a mirror to his expression a few days before.

“The Avengers Initiative has and will continue to have my full support as long as they stay within the guidelines set by the newly revised Avenger’s Accords and jointly manned by the U.N. in partner with the newly constructed SWORD.  Or so long as they have ample and justified reasons for stepping outside those bounds.”  Tony tells him evenly.  “But I’m done carrying them, Your Highness.  I’m done being their scapegoat.  This way’s better.  Cleaner.  This way I can cauterize the wound.  This way it can finally _heal_.”

T’Challa stares at him for a long moment before he sighs, clasps his hand behind his back, and nods again.

They separate in silence then.

There’s nothing left to say.

~~~

That night, back in the safety of the Compound, Tony stretches himself out across one of the lounge chairs they’d brought up to the roof.  Rhodey settles in beside him on the other and sips at his beer while Vision, as he normally does, hovers just over the side of the building with Redwing at his side.

Tony watches the stars above them and lets himself bask in the comfortable silence that cloaks them.

There’d been a time in his life where this kind of silence would have been unthinkable, would have had him on edge and unnerved.  There’d been a time in his life where he would have felt the need to move and talk and do because to be silent and still was to be _vulnerable_.

Now he relishes it, relishes the peace and the familiarity of it.

This is his family and he _loves_ them.

This is his family and they love _him_.

Silence isn’t a curse with them as it had normally been in Tony’s past.

It’s no longer a void he absolutely has to fill.

With them, silence is just silence.

And that’s a gift Tony had never thought to have in his life.

~~~

There are a few things Tony realizes he needs to do in the weeks before Rogers and his team return to the Compound.

A few ghosts he needs to lay to rest on his own.

A few more phantoms he might finally be able to shed.

~~~

“I can’t help but wonder what you would have thought, you and Howard both.”  Tony smiles ruefully.  “Well not so much Howard cause I know whose side he would have picked and it wasn’t _mine_.  Still.  Maybe things would have been different.  Maybe he, _they_ , would have listened to you.  Maybe if you’d have been there then none of it would have gotten this far in the first place.  And a part of me wonders if you _knew_.  If you’d always known the truth and kept it from me too.  If you knew it wasn’t Howard driving drunk that killed her and just never told me.  A part of me wants to know but the rest of me … the rest of me thinks I’m better off never being sure.”

There’s so many possibilities and ‘what if’s’ that Tony’s been batting around since everything went to hell.  This one just stings a little bit more than some of the others.

“I miss you, you know that right?  No matter what I miss you.”  Tony sighs the words out softly.  “I couldn’t make it to the funeral because of what was going on but I got a chance to see it afterwards.”

Tony takes in a ragged breath and lets it out slowly.

“I _hated_ it.  Hated every goddamn second of it.  Hated the flowers and the speeches and that picture they used.  I just … it wasn’t enough.  You deserved … it wasn’t _enough_.”

He stares down at the headstone for a long moment, words choked in his throat, before he takes a step back and lets the armor wrap around him.

“Love you, Aunt Peggy.”

Tony leaves.

~~~ 

“I have to admit,” Everett Ross quirks a half smile in his direction as he leads him down the hall, “this wasn’t exactly the meeting I thought you’d ask for.  Especially not after all this time.  Figured it was pretty cut and dried given his confession and the evidence you compiled.”

“Well I’ve been busy,” Tony admits as they pause outside a thick glass and steel door that’s flanked with two armed guards.  “Legislation to amend, funds to raise, industries to reinvent.  You know, the usual.  Otherwise I’d have probably come sooner.”

“I’ll have two guards stationed outside and the room’s being monitored for your safety as well as his,” Ross tells him.  “He’s restrained and he’s never shown an inclination towards violence, but I’m going to ask you to stay on your side of the table.  For paperwork purposes if nothing else.  Other than that I’ll leave you to it.  Just buzz the door when you’re done and you’ll be let out.”

Tony nods in agreement and watches Ross disappear down the hall before he closes his eyes behind his sunglasses, takes a small fortifying breath, and nods at the guard who pulls the door open.

Head high, shoulders straight, and hands in his pockets to hide any possible sign of tension, Tony walks inside.  The door shuts behind him with a heavy sounding thud and the lock engages.

For a moment Tony stands still, lets his eyes track over the room and the cameras he knows are there, before he moves towards the bolted down steel table and the free chair in front of it.

He sits down, leans back, and takes a deliberately relaxed posture.

“Anthony Stark, the Iron Man.”  Zemo’s accent curls around his name in a way Tony would find pleasant on anyone else.  “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“I’d say the same but I’d be lying.”  Tony quips back.

“Ah yes,” Zemo grins, the expression sharp despite the slight beard he’s sporting.  “And _honesty_ has always been so important to you hasn’t it Anthony?”

He’s thinner looking than the last time Tony saw him but still healthy.  That brokenness in his eyes is the same though.  That icy glint that Tony is more familiar with than he wants to admit is still readily apparent.  But he also seems just the slightest bit more _peaceful_ in a way that Tony isn’t sure what to make of.

The idea that _Zemo_ feels peaceful, feels _serene_ after everything he did, everything he _caused_ , makes Tony’s teeth clench and his muscles tense before he calms himself down.  The last thing he needs to do is call the armor up from inside of him.

That would lead to some questions he’s not looking to answer at the moment.

Tony doesn’t answer him, doesn’t have to.  They both know the truth.  Know just what honesty, or the lack there of, had driven Tony to the last time they’d met.

“I know why you’ve come,” Zemo finally says even as he leans forward, shackled hands braced against the table top and expression intent as his eyes rake over Tony’s face like he’s searching for something.

“Do you?”  Tony’s honestly curious.

“Yes,” Zemo nods.  “You want answers, answers only I can give you.  And I will give them to you.  But I want something from you first Anthony.”

“What?”

“Let me see your eyes.”  Zemo’s voice is low, almost intimately pitched.  “I want to look you in the eyes when I give you your answers.  When I tell you my truth.”

Tony debates with himself for a split second about giving the man what he wants but he knows he’s going to do it even before he reaches out towards the cameras that can see his face and twists the code enough to shut them down.  He might have to listen to Ross bitch about it later but there’s no way to prove he did anything.  Plus there’s still two cameras operational in the room and audio so there’s no reason for them to try and interfere with the conversation yet.

Tony reaches up, slowly pulls his sunglasses off of his face, and tucks them neatly into his breast pocket.

Across from him Zemo sucks in a sharp breath and leans as far forward as he can even as he makes a come hither gesture with his bound hands.  Tony leans forward as well, until their faces are only a foot or so apart.  He meets Zemo’s eyes head on, doesn’t blink or flinch as the man stares at him.

“ _Exquisite_ ,” Zemo breathes as he finally leans back, slumps down into his chair with a strangely satisfied air about him.  “So very bright Anthony, and so very _different_.  They suit you I think, unique as they are, and without a single speck of _green_.”

“As romantic as all of this is,” Tony arches a brow as he leans back as well, “if we’re done gazing into each other’s eyes I’d like some of that truth you’ve been talking about.”

“Have you told anyone?”  The abrupt topic change makes Tony blink but that’s all.  “Does anyone know the truth about our last meeting?”

“They know enough.”  It’s a loaded answer and Tony can see the moment the underlying meaning dawns on Zemo.

Tony had told no one the truth of that fight, no one outside of his tiny, cobbled together family.

It had been private, _his_ , and no one else had had the _right_ to his pain, his betrayal.  No one outside of those who’d stood by his side.

“I did you a disservice in a way,” Zemo finally says.  “Used a pain I was all too familiar with to my own benefit.  I offer no apologies for that.”

“You lost a lot,” Tony agrees, because no matter what Zemo had done it doesn’t change the truth of what the man had lost.  It’s not an excuse for what he’d done but it’s still true.  “It doesn’t excuse what you did, but it still shouldn’t have happened.”

Ultron should have never happened.  Should have never existed as it had.  Sokovia should have never been touched as it was.  The program that was supposed to be Tony’s youngest son had been twisted and corrupted, had never had the chance to grow and learn and _be_.  In the end it had cost Tony and so many others far too much.

“Loss can drive us to lengths we would have never considered before,” Zemo nods.  “You know that as well as I, Anthony.”

Tony does.  So much of his life, so many of his decisions, have been based on one loss or another.

He knows the feeling well.

“Here is my truth Anthony,” Zemo announces, “you were a means to an end.  Just like my family, you were _collateral damage_.”

The words settle heavy and cold in the pit of Tony’s stomach but it’s something he finds easy enough to accept.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone said something of the like to him.

“I nursed a hatred for you,” Zemo admits, “for a long time.  The press slandered you, placed the blame for that _monster_ on your shoulders and for months I seethed in _rage_.  But as I began to plan, as I began to research and dig deeper and deeper into the darkness and more and more of your recovery efforts poured into my home country, I felt that wrath begin to quieten.  Felt it begin to ease.”

Surprise arcs through Tony then at the idea that Zemo of all people had begun to soften towards _him_.

“You were not innocent,” Zemo keeps going.  “And your money does not replace the lives that were lost, but at least you tried.  At least you _stayed_.  While the others left and pulled that _witch_ into their fold, you stayed behind to offer what aid you could.  And for that my hatred quietened.  So I studied the Captain and you and when I discovered other truths, discovered that you didn’t know of them, couldn’t know of them, I knew they were what I needed.  I knew it would be a truth you’d never be able to forgive, would be a truth the Captain would never be able to justify.  That you all played directly into my hands only made things all the sweeter.”

“Why me?”  Tony finally brings himself to ask.  “Why focus on that?  Why use me as the lynch pin to all of that?  That’s the one piece I can’t get to fit into place.  Why you were so sure that was the direction to go in with your plans when there had to be a dozen different angles you could have played.”

“There were other plans I could have set into motion but there was a certain sort of poetry to the one I chose.  And I chose it because you loved him,” Zemo says simply, easily.  Like it’s a truth he’d built his scheme upon.  “You loved the good Captain didn’t you Anthony?”

“I did,” Tony finds himself saying with a small nod, honest in a way he’d have never expected to be.  Not now, not here, not with this man of all people.  It comes to his tongue easily though, this truth of his, because it’s easy to admit to something that’s been long dead now.  “I don’t love him anymore but I did then.  And now things will never go back to how they were.”

“Then the victory truly does go to me in the end after all.”  Zemo tells him with a small, satisfied smile.  “That is why I chose you as the pressure point Anthony.  That _love_ of yours.  It was plain to see for any who cared to look.  Your love for him, your support, how you bolstered them all up despite their ignorance.  Despite your own.  The death of that love, the removal of that devotion, I knew it for what it would be.  The fall of the _Avengers_.  The death of an _era_.”

Tony finds himself speechless though he keeps his face an impassive mask as he reaches into his pocket for his sunglasses and slips them back onto his face.  He sends out a spark of code to untwist the cameras and then pushes himself up onto his feet.

“I look forward to our next visit Anthony,” Zemo smiles up at him.

“There won’t be another one.”  Tony tells him as he turns on his heel and marches towards the door and the buzzer that’ll let him out.

Zemo’s quiet, confident, laughter follows him out.

~~~

“Are you sure about this Boss?”  FRIDAY asks softly.  The worry that’s apparent in her voice makes Tony _smile_ because she’s grown so much in so short a time and he’s so very proud of her.  His _daughter_ , his little girl, bright and lovely and unique just like the rest of his children.

He never should have chained her down, never should have restricted her like he had.

“Vision’s with me and so are you baby girl,” Tony comforts her.  “There’s no one here who can hurt me.”

“If you’re sure Boss,” there’s a note of uncertainty still in her voice.

“I won’t stay long,” Tony tells her gently as he lands, Vision floating down beside him to hover just above the snow strewn floor.  “Just need to pick up a few things, clean up a few messes.”

The bunker is the same as it was when Tony left it after those thirty-six hours.  Is just as cold and bleak and dead as it had been then.

Tony could have happily gone the rest of his life without ever seeing it again but Tony has a purpose for being back, a purpose he’s put off for far too long.

Vision at his side, Tony picks his way around and over the rubble until they’re standing in what remains of the main room where the other Winter Soldiers lay dead amidst the debris.

“You sure you’re up for this V?”  Tony asks quietly.  “We can do this another way if it’s too much for you.”

“The task is distasteful but necessary.”  Vision replies.  “There must be no traces left and this is the best way to ensure that.  We both have a part to play in this so do not worry about me.  I will be fine Tony.”

Tony nods, reaches up to pat Vision’s shoulder as softly as he can, and moves towards the few still intact computer terminals so he can take care of his part in all of this.

Vision heads towards the first of the bodies, stride determined.

Together they’ll make sure there’s not a single speck of usable data for anyone to ever scavenge from this place.  Not digitally or … _physically_.

Behind him Tony hears the Mind Stone in Vision’s forehead hum as he puts his newly trained precision to the test.

~~~

Tony stares down at the mess of metal and wire with a sick sort of fascination.

Even without the entire piece laid out in front of him Tony’s mind clicks and whirls at what this half destroyed piece tells him.

The arm is … exquisite in its intricacy as well as its brutality.

Tony can do better.

Tony _will_ do better.

~~~

The Zen garden is as calm and peaceful as its name as Tony wanders through it, only the sounds of insects and the quiet burbling of water break the quiet.

He calls the boots and gauntlets up without a thought and takes to the air where he does lazy loops through the air as he rises higher and higher.

The freedom of flight is beautiful to him once again, is an escape he’s so thankful to have back.

A solace he knows he’ll need in the days to come.

Like his family, Tony is so grateful to have it back with him.

Floating lazily in the air, far out of sight to the naked eye, Tony closes his eyes, reaches out his mind and touches lightly on a now familiar program.

Behind his closed eyes space spreads out before him as he connects with the telescope.

The beauty of the stars is enough to leave him breathless in a combination of long held fear that he’s been forcing himself to tame and a new found sense of exhilaration.

The universe is so large, so beautiful, so unknown.

And, out there somewhere, is a monster determined to murder everything Tony knows and loves.

Tony will die before he lets that happen.

But for now, all he can do is watch and wait.

All he can do is play the sentinel and do his best to forge the best armor he can for the world he’s so determined to protect.

No matter how long it takes him.

No matter how much damage he does to himself in the process.

In the end it will all be worth it.

It’ll have to be.

~~~

Tony stands tall and confident outside the Compound, eyes on the approaching jet.  He’d dressed carefully, deliberately, in his first kind of armor in the form of a _sinfully_ expensive all black three piece suit and matching tie with even darker sunglasses firmly in place.  Vision and Rhodey stand on either side of him, faces solemn and shoulders tense.  Above Tony’s right shoulder Redwing hovers protectively in a move Tony’s sure will get Wilson’s back up automatically.

“I find myself disquieted,” Vision breaks the comfortable silence.  “The idea of a reunion as it were is … unsettling in some ways.”

“First one to talk shit gets hit,” Rhodey pipes up as he shifts his weight just slightly where he’s clad in his armor.  He’d been determined to wear it, _‘just in case’_ he’d said, and Tony hadn’t bothered to try and dissuade him.

If push comes to shove and the worst happens then at least Rhodey will be safe inside the armor, won’t be left unarmored and defenseless for even a second.

“So violent care bear,” Tony teases from behind his sunglasses.  “Better reign that in a bit otherwise I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna be throwing punches nonstop right from the beginning.  Might be exhausting and you’ll probably break a nail.”

“I’ve got high powered battle armor, no feeling from the waist down, and even less patience for bullshit than before,” Rhodey tells him with a shrug.  “I’m fully prepared to take that risk.”

“Just a couple of months,” Tony sighs without taking his eyes off the jet as it settles down on the landing pad.  “That’s all we’ve got to do.  Make it for a few months.”

“It is a task we can and will complete.”  Vision agrees.  “Together.”

“Yeah,” Tony smiles even as the word echoes in the back of his head and another tendril of warmth unfurls inside of him.  “ _Together_.”

It’s an old, familiar promise that's always been broken in the past.  Always left him hurting and licking his wounds somewhere safe.

Tony shouldn't trust it but he _does_.

Because this time it's Vision and Rhodey and they're his _family_.  They've stayed with him, hurt with him, grown with him.

This time, Tony truly believes it.

This time Tony knows he won’t be the only one fighting to make that promise grow into a reality.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Max who was the inspiration/driving force behind this chapter! I hope you liked it!


	5. Contact. Confront. Control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue but here's the next part!

Tony feels almost serene as he stands there, feels quiet and still like a winter forest.  But deep inside of him, lovingly fed and sheltered by the way he is guarding and guarded by his _family_ , is a small spark of warmth.

It keeps him calm and collected as he watches the jet settle and the doors open.  

He isn’t surprised that Rogers is the first one to come down the ramp, isn’t surprised that he’s _leading the charge_ as it were.  It’s so like him to take front and center in this moment, to put himself out in front of the others like a _shield_.

Or a battering ram.

Despite, and in part because of, the cold that still lives inside of him, Tony knows that iconic immovable object kind of stubbornness has always been Rogers’ best and worst quality.

Sometimes planting oneself by the river of truth and refusing to move is true and noble.

Other times the best thing a person can do is to step out of the way.

Over the years Tony has learned the hard, _bitter_ lesson, that true wisdom, true _strength_ , is knowing how to tell the two situations apart.

The others file out behind Rogers a few seconds later and Tony can’t help the way his attention skips over them to focus in on Barnes who pulls up the rear of the group for a split second.  There’s a surprising, but not overly large, amount of distance between him and everyone else.  Still it’s more distance than Tony had ever thought Rogers would allow after all he’d done and given up in Barnes’ name.

Tony watches them all silently from across the considerable distance between the landing pad and the entrance to the Compound.  He’s more than aware of the tension running through Vision and Rhodey both.  Is more than aware of the taut, battle ready postures both of them have adopted.

It warms him, their readiness to protect and defend, to attack on his behalf as well as their own.  Tony makes a point of shifting his weight to knock one elbow lightly against Rhodey’s armored arm and his other against Vision’s hand where he hovers at his side.  Small touches of comfort, reminders that they are, first and foremost, in this together.

Beside him he hears the way Rhodey deliberately breathes out, low and deep and rhythmic like his therapist taught him, even as Vision’s hand comes up to clasp his elbow briefly in a gentle and comforting squeeze.  Tony’s sure that, if the situation was different, Vision’s hand would be in his hair, petting him in that amusingly fond way he’s taken to doing.

But now is not the time for that, is not the time for overt gentleness and comfort and the warm blossom of affection Tony’s taken to hoarding close to his chest like a particularly miserly dragon.

Now is the time for something else entirely.

Now is the time for that specific kind of stage craft, the smoke and mirrors and carefully calculated _coldness_ , that Tony had cut his teeth on as a child.

Everything from Tony’s clothes to their deliberate decision to stand by the entrance instead of front and center to greet the returning rogues, is just one part of it.  There are plans within plans at work, _battlefields_ drawn and chosen and deliberately stacked without even the courtesy of giving the other side any kind of forewarning.

It is, all of it, more than a bit symbolic Tony knows.

There is a divide between all of them now, a fissure of sorts born from lies and pain and _distrust_.

It’s one that Tony had once been _desperate_ to cross, one he’d run himself ragged and half dead trying to fill in.

One that it had taken Tony thirty-six uninterrupted hours in a cold Siberian bunker to realize that he’d never be enough to bridge.

But, with his _family_ at his side, it’s one chasm that Tony now has no desire to cross.

He has _love_ and a slowly burgeoning warmth in his chest and no desire to run desperately after people who will _never_ choose him.

Not anymore, not ever again.

Tony is done chasing after people who will never love him back.

So Tony uses the time it takes Rogers and his group to cross the lawn to study all of them, to catalogue the similarities and differences between now and the last time they’d all crossed paths.  To look at them like the pieces of the puzzle that Tony’s been slowly assembling for years now instead of the sham of a family he’d so desperately tried to cobble together out of them.

Thankfully Extremis makes it easy enough to pick out the minute details even from so far away.

Wilson looks much the same, is still solid and straight backed.  Lang hasn’t changed much either although he looks a bit more stressed than Tony remembers.  But, to be fair, Tony doesn’t have a large frame of reference for him.

 _Maximoff_ , and Tony can’t stop the way his lip curls back in the smallest of snarls before he gets it under control, looks fine as well.  Is still dewy skinned and deceptively doe eyed.  The main difference is that now, thanks to Extremis, Tony can just barely see the hauntingly familiar scarlet energy that curls around her like a flowing and ebbing tide.

Her power rendered visible to his eyes even when she isn’t actively drawing on it.

It’s something Tony would rather _never_ see again.

Barton, on the other hand, looks different.  His hair’s been cut and even from a distance Tony can see the harsh lines that have dug themselves into the corners of his mouth.  He looks _older_ , looks more tired somehow than Tony’s ever seen him before despite the confident way he still carries himself.  It’s obvious that his time away has weighed heavily on him.

Once Tony would have cared, would have felt the twinges of concern for the archer who he’d _thought_ was his friend.

But that had been washed away long ago now, was ripped apart by mocking words from a jail cell and frozen over by the winter that had made its home inside of him

Tony’s almost absently pleased to see that not even the slowly unfurling warmth deep inside of his chest has changed that.

There is nothing left inside of him for Barton, no slivers of friendship or worry or faintly fond amusement.

 _Good_.  That’s as it should be.

Because he’d mocked Rhodey, had mocked his fall and his pain right to Tony’s face, had tried to use it as a _weapon_ to pay Tony back for a slight he’d never given in the first place.

And that, above everything else, is something Tony _refuses_ to forgive him for.  Because Tony is used to pain, is used to hurt and betrayal and carrying weight that was never his to carry but gets piled on his shoulder somehow anyways.

But Barton’s venom should’ve never touched Rhodey.

Not _ever_.

Not even tangentially.

Tony brushes the thoughts away with long practiced easy because they’ve crossed the majority of the yard now and it doesn’t even take Extremis’ boost to his vision to be able to study the others easily now.

It’s, surprisingly enough, the remaining three that show the main differences in the time that has passed around them all.

And, given who and what they each are, Tony finds that more than a bit ironic.

Romanov, like Barton, has cut her hair.  The dark red of it floats around her face in a messy cap so different from the lush waves, severe sheets, and sensual curls she’d always favored in the past.  There’s a tension in her frame now too, a curtness that Tony can spot even though she keeps her face impassive and her body language easy and languid.

She’s trying for nonchalant and casual but she can’t fool Tony anymore.  None of them can.

His blinders where they’re concerned had all been ripped rather violently away.

Barnes is different too but the changes in him are both subtle and not.  Appearance wise he’s not changed much.  He’s still tall and broad shouldered, his hair’s still long and his jaw’s still stubbled, but in contrast to Romanov there’s a sort of _ease_ to him now.  There’s a slight softening to his face and a rolling fluidity to his gait that Tony had only seen brief snatches of before when he’d been triggered by Zemo and Tony had stepped in and done his best to slow him down.

In the airport and in Siberia both, Barnes had been efficient and brutal by turns, his movements menacing in their mechanicality.  He’d been obviously skilled and highly dangerous, but there’d been a comfort of sorts with his own body that had always seemed absent.

It’s not anymore.

Now, even with one sleeve glaringly empty where it hangs by his side, he moves like he’s finally settled into his skin without the trigger words to forcefully do it for him.

Tony isn’t exactly happy for him but he doesn’t resent the man the small bits of peace he’s obviously managed to find.

Of all of them Barnes has, somehow, ended up as the one Tony feels slightly positive but mainly neutral about.  It had taken time, time and painful introspection, but he’d reached a sort of peace himself with Barnes’ often unwilling place in everything that had happened.

Had reached a sort of serenity with the fact that Barnes had been a _weapon_ , a gun or a bomb or a million other things that Tony had spent decades perfecting.  Each one capable of great destruction but willess and inert unless acted upon by an outside force.

Harmless unless pointed and fired by someone else's hands.

So now, in a cruel sort of irony, he’s become a sort of non issue to Tony despite how much T’Challa had seemed intent on focusing on him during the negotiations.

Finally Tony turns his attention towards Rogers and he can't deny that he deliberately saved Rogers for last, doesn’t even bother to lie to himself about that.

It had been a deliberate choice because there is still some small part of him that had worried he might feel something beyond the winter’s chill nipping at his bones when he finally, _truly_ , looked at the man again.

There’d been a small part that had worried that there might be a kernel of _love_ left in him for Rogers.

There isn’t.

Tony takes in Roger’s broad shoulders, the thick but neat beard he’s now sporting, the tired slant to his eyes and the way that he somehow looks _larger_ than Tony ever remembers him being before.

Tony takes it, takes him, all in and feels _nothing_ but the sinister slide of frost down his spine.

“Tony,” Rogers _smiles_ when he and the others come to a stop about a yard away.  Smiles that soft, gentle uptick of his mouth, that sweet and hesitant quirk of plush pink lips that used to make Tony’s heart flutter and his stomach _clench_.

Those are the key words though.

 _Used to_.

“It’s good to see you again,” Rogers continues as he steps forward, one hand coming up like he’s going to reach out and touch Tony.

“Rogers,” Rhodey breaks the silence, stepping forward and just the slightest bit in front of Tony even as Vision moves to do the same on his opposite side.

Above him Tony hears the way Redwing cocks his small caliber gun, obviously ready to do his part to protect Tony even if Tony doesn’t need that protection so much these days.

In the back of his head FRIDAY and the others buzz in displeasure because of course they’re watching everything that’s happening.  He’s probably lucky that FRIDAY hasn’t engaged the Compound’s outer defenses yet.

Tony has to bite back a smile at their overprotectiveness.

“Let’s get inside,” Tony says as he deliberately ignores Rogers greeting and the way his face falls at the others obviously protective moves.  If he wants to nip this in the bud before Rhodey throws the first punch then Tony knows he needs to move quickly.

So, in the interest of not having another and potentially far more deadly _Civil War_ on the front lawn of the Compound, Tony turns on his heel and walks back through the doors.

Thankfully Vision and Rhodey follow behind him after only a split second of hesitation, Redwing hovering above their heads.

Tony hears the harsh whispers behind him clearly enough but he doesn’t pay them any attention.

They aren’t important.

~~~

Tony doesn’t take them to a conference room because that isn’t what this is.  This isn’t a business meeting no matter how much Tony wishes it was.

This is something both less and more than a business meeting and as much as he wants it all to be over and done with Tony knows that the official end of all of this is still a ways off in the future.

But, again, now isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts no matter how many tracks his mind can run on at once.

Instead he moves towards the common room of the Compound and settles himself with a deliberate sort of nonchalance directly in the middle of one of the plush sofas Rhodey had picked out when they’d redecorated.  He leans back, legs crossed and arms laid out across the back of the sofa, in a move that he _knows_ makes him look insolent and uncaring.

Vision floats over and settles at his side while Rhodey moves to stand just behind the sofa and the both of them like a sentinel.  Redwing darts across the room and settles down on Vision’s lap like an overgrown and overprotective cat.

Tony is instantly reminded of that week of meetings with T’Challa and takes a moment to press his fingers gently against Vision’s shoulder in a move that’s hidden by their positions.

“Sit,” Tony flicks his fingers in the direction of the other seats in the room, “or don’t.  This shouldn’t take long either way.”

Unsurprisingly they all choose to stand although Barnes, Tony notices, does move to put his back to a corner.

“Tony,” Rogers starts again, only this time he doesn’t try and reach out towards Tony despite the way his hands twitch at his sides.

Rhodey’s threatening bulk at Tony’s back and the way Vision’s watching him unblinkingly must make him think twice about it.

“As you should know,” Tony starts off smoothly, once again ignoring Rogers’ attempts to talk to him, “despite signing the Avenger’s Accords you’re here on a strictly probationary basis.  You’ve got a six month grace period to prove that you’re willing and ready to work within the Accords and in tandem with both the U.N. and SWORD.”

“Seems a little unnecessary doesn’t it?”  Wilson speaks up, arms folded across his chest but expression surprisingly open.  “Probation and all?  We signed.  Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Seems a lot like a petty ass punishment in my opinion,” Barton snorts but the scorn in his voice is weak, lackluster.  It doesn’t carry any true sting to it, not like it had back in the Raft.  “We aren’t kids Stark, we don’t need a time out.”

Or maybe that’s just because Tony _doesn’t care_ _anymore_.

“Good to see you’re still an idiot Barton,” Rhodey sneers from behind Tony.

Tony isn’t the only one who’s holding those comments about broken backs against Barton.

Barton’s face twists into something that seems a lot like anger and guilt but he doesn’t say anything, just scrubs his hands through his hair and then crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

“No,” Tony inclines his head in Wilson’s direction.  “It’s not enough.  Signing the Accords doesn’t erase what happened, what was done.  It doesn’t erase the fact that the governments of the world and the public doesn’t trust you anymore.”  Tony flicks the fingers of his left hand in a dismissive gesture.  “Just think of the probationary period as time you can use to study up on the new status quo and work to gain that trust back.”

“The status quo?”  Maximoff speaks up, voice quiet but tone hard.  When Tony turns his head to look at her the barely there scarlet of her powers are now alive and active, swirling around her fingertips like she can’t control them.

Or like she refuses to.

“Things here are run differently now,” Tony tells her coolly.  “There’s actual structure, guidelines.   _Rules_.  A whole chain of _actual_ command.  It’s all very official.”

She doesn’t frighten him anymore.

Like he’d told the others back when this all started, these people can’t hurt Tony anymore.

Not even her.

Maybe, _especially_ not her anymore.

“Your rules, you mean,” she practically hisses, the scarlet glow twinning between her fingers pulsing like a frantic heartbeat.  “A chain of command with _you_ at the head.”

“Stand down Maximoff,” Rhodey cuts in, voice heavy and cold with intent, “before you do something I’ll make sure you regret.”

“Wanda,” Barton surprisingly enough steps forward then and lays a hand on her shoulder.  “Come on kid, that’s enough.”

Like a puppet with her strings cut Maximoff folds in on herself, powers dwindling back down to a haze as she slumps against Barton’s shoulder.

“It isn’t _fair_ ,” Wanda mutters, voice thick with what sounds like tears and loud enough for everyone to hear.  “We’re finally _home_ and now … now we’re still being punished.  Punished for something we had no choice but to do.”

“Choosing incorrectly is not equivalent to being given no choice at all.”  Vision cuts in from Tony’s side, hands never stopping their gentle stroking across Redwing’s frame.  It’s a move made routine between the two during long nights spent huddled together in Tony’s bedroom.  Plus Tony can see the faint flash of jealousy and sadness that darts across Wilson’s face when the other’s attention all focuses on Vision again.

Vision can be petty in his own little ways sometimes.

“You _know_ that isn’t true,” Maximoff presses as she turns out of Barton’s arms to face Vision, yearning clear on her face when she looks at him.  “We didn’t have a choice.  The Accords were wrong, were little better than _shackles_.  Viz, you know that, deep down I know you do.”  Her voice is almost pleading.

“And yet you are here now,” Vision point out calmly.  “The Accords have been signed and _you are here_.”

“Yeah but they … they’re not the same are they?”  Lang actually pipes up, posture and expression uncomfortable as focus shifts in his direction.  “I mean … isn’t that kind of why we all signed?  Because they were revised?  They’re not all evil now or however they were before?”

“Therein lies the point,” Vision dips his head in Lang’s direction and the man actual flushes a bit and ducks his head like he’s surprised to even be really noticed and heard.  “The Accords were amended.  As they _always_ would have been.  The fact that you were able to sign now, the fact that you were able to return at all, proves that the Accords were not presented as an absolute.  They were not set in stone and that is proof that the choice was always your own.  All that was required of you … was _trust_.  Trust you each demanded but were, to a one, unwilling to give in turn.”

The silence that follows Vision’s quiet statement is thick and heavy.  Rogers in particular looks unsettled, sorrow etched heavily on his face.

“Trust in corrupt governments, in a man like Ross.  Trust in _Stark_ ,” Maximoff sneers softly.  “In the man who _murdered_ my family.”

Tony deliberately doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all.

He doesn’t have to.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Rhodey snaps out from behind him.  “I’m so tired of this bullshit.  It’s time for you to grow up and face the facts.  Tony didn’t kill your family.”

“It was his bomb,” Maximoff starts but Rhodey scoffs loudly.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Rhodey presses on, “maybe it was his bomb, or maybe it was a knock off, or maybe it was a defective floor model because it didn’t detonate or maybe it was part of a shipment that was sold under the table by the man that Tony had to _kill_ to stop that shit from happening again.  Maybe it was any of those and maybe he did make it but he didn’t fucking _fire_ it.  You should’ve went after the bastards that fired on a _civilian population_.  Instead you joined a _terrorist organization_ and went after the man who _maybe_ made the bomb’s whoever attacked your country were never supposed to have in the first place.”

Behind the safety of his sunglasses Tony’s eyes drift briefly shut.

He’s never tried to shirk the responsibility, the culpability, he carries for what Stane had done under his nose.  That blood is, through his own negligence and naivete, on his own hands.

But to hear Rhodey defend him like this about something that still _eats_ at Tony …

This feels a little bit like absolution.

A little bit like forgiveness.

Deep inside his chest that tiny furl of warmth _grows_.

“Back off of her,” Rogers finally speaks up as he steps forward until he’s just a bit in front of Maximoff and Barton.  As if _she_ needs his protection.  “This isn’t helping anything.  We’re supposed to be moving forward.   _Together_.”

Tony doesn’t even try to stop the small sneer that pulls at his mouth.  All he can taste in that second is bloody frost on the back of his tongue.

That’s all Rogers’ _‘together’_ means to him these days.

The taste of ice and copper drowning him from the inside out.

“ _No_ ,” Rhodey states baldly.  “This shit’s went on long enough back then and it’s not going to start up again now no matter how much you all want to brush it aside.  So, since she brought it up, I’m going to finish this whole idiotic line of thought.  I should’ve said something back at the start, back when you took her into this team despite who she was and what she did.  To the team, to Bruce, to _Tony_.”  Rhodey makes a small derisive noise low in his throat.  “The only reason I didn’t is because Tony asked me not to, because he made the decision to step back and away from all of you.  That’s my fault.  I should’ve never let it stand.   _You_ should’ve never let it stand.”

Rogers’ mouth snaps shut with an almost audible click.

There’s another moment of long, tense silence.

“This too is the result of choices that have been made,” Vision finally says softly.  “Choices that I now know were incorrect ones as well.  My only defense was ignorance and a certain type of youth.  But, in hindsight, I too should have spoken to Tony’s defense.  As well as Dr. Banner.  There was enough of my predecessor left inside of me that I knew, even then, the mettle of both men.”

“Vision,” Maximoff whispers softly.  “Please.”

Vision’s face is soft, almost gentle, but Tony knows him well enough now to know that there’s no pity there, no sign of forgiveness or of bending.  There is only a steady, stoic kind of pride and wisdom.

And, from the gentle and familiar brushes of code Tony can feel in the back of his mind, a warm and solid kind of love and affection.

Tony is so very blessed to have him in his life.  Is so grateful that JARVIS’ loss had, at the very least, allowed the world, and Tony, to know Vision.

“There is blame that could be spread to both sides but you chose to escalate it to violence.  Your actions, along with others, forced a fracture where there could have been a compromise.”  Vision tells Maximoff and the room at large softly.  Tony can see the devastation beginning to etch itself across her face and while he takes no pleasure in it he also feels no sense of sadness or pity for her either.  “Confrontation where there could have been _peace_.”

“You’re _choosing_ Stark,” Maximoff says with a certain kind of horror in her voice.  “We’ve come home and you’re still choosing _Stark_.”

“Yes,” Vision announces easily, as if there was never any other option in his mind.  “I am.  He is my family.  I warned you, Ms. Maximoff, just as I warned the others about causality, about consequences, _but you would not listen_.  We asked for _trust_ and _you would not give it_.  And so we were left behind to suffer the consequences.  Left behind, wounded and outnumbered, to clean up the aftermath.  As such my choice is made and it was not you.  Just as yours was not me.  I have chosen my _family_ and I will not betray that choice so lightly.”

Maximoff breaks in that moment, a sob catching in her throat as she pushes away from Barton’s comforting arm and turns to rush out of the door.  Tony sends a thought to FRIDAY who immediately agrees to herd her towards her room but otherwise he just watches her go silently.

“Was that necessary?”  Rogers bites the words out as he steps forward towards where Tony’s sitting, large shoulders squared and hands clenched at his sides.

Tony doesn’t even blink behind his sunglasses.

He’d stopped flinching from people who hit him by the time he was twelve.

And now Rogers couldn’t hurt him if he _tried_.  Tony isn’t alone and fragile, isn’t driven half mad with grief and betrayal but still holding back like he was the last time they fought.

And, most damning of all, there is the fact that ...

 _Tony doesn’t love him anymore_.

“That’s enough,” Romanov speaks up then as she moves into the center of the room.  “We’ve all had a long day.  Let’s break and regroup when tempers aren’t so high.  The last thing we need to do now is fight again.”

Tony finds the fact that she’s attempting to play mediator to be a certain level of bitterly amusing.

“There’s not much else to say anyways,” Tony tells them all with a deliberate sort of nonchalance.  “Just read the packets in your rooms, make sure you know them inside and out and then try not to do anything that’ll land you in front of an Accord’s Counsel review board or in SWORD’s custody.  Or do, if that’s what you want.  Either way you’ll be handling it on your own.”

“Sounds fair.”  Wilson nods before he casts a lingering look at both Rhodey and Redwing, and then turns on his heel and strides out as well.  Barton darts a sharp eyed glance around the room before he sighs, shakes his head, and strides out as well.  Lang waves at them rather nervously and then leaves as well.  Tony can hear his hissed whispers as clear as day but he doesn’t focus on them.  FRIDAY is monitoring them all anyways so he doesn’t really have to worry.

And then, suddenly, there was only Barnes, Romanov, and Rogers left in the room with them.

“And what, exactly,” Romanov asks a few seconds later, eyes sharp and contemplative, “do you mean by _‘you’ll be handling it on your own’_ Tony?”

“I mean, Ms. Romanov,” Tony says as he finally unfolds his legs and shifts his arms so that he can stand, hands automatically re-buttoning his suit jacket as he goes, “that I’m no longer responsible for your care and upkeep on a personal level.”

“What about the Compound and our gear?”  Romanov asks, as shrewd as always.

“The Compound itself is and will continue to be funded as it always has been because it’s the official Avenger’s Headquarters.”  Tony answers easily enough because it’s true.  “Tech and gear for official missions will also be handled in house due to a special request from the U.N. despite the arguable conflict of interests.  All gear requisitions will, however, be on a needs only basis and will have to be officially logged for missions and training.  But beyond that?  You’re on your own.  I’m not going to be bankrolling your lives anymore.  Any of you.  If you end up in legal trouble because you couldn’t bother to read the fine print on what you signed then that’s your problem.  Not mine.”

“Is Clint right?  Is this just more punishment Tony?”  Romanov asks with deceptive softness.  “I thought we were supposed to be getting things back on track.  Like Steve said, _together_.  Pushing us away isn’t going to fix anything.  We’re your _family_.  Remember?  You need us to watch your back like we need you to watch ours.  You can’t save the world alone.”

Tony cocks his head to the side and stares at her silently as his mind clicks and whirls at the speed of light.  He thinks about the Accords, about Ross, about hours spent on the phone listening to the other man backhandedly threaten everything and everyone Tony had held dear at the time.

Thinks about the months reading legislation proposals so brutal they made him sick.

Thinks about the months of _backbreaking_ work he’d put into keeping them safe from proposals that would have seen them registered and tagged like they were less than human.  The months of nightmares and headaches and panic numbing his left arm as he obsessively tracked the news and glad-handed here and there and everywhere to try and stave off the worst of what he knew could come.

Thinks about ripping himself apart over and over again as he scrambled frantically to do as much as he could to keep what he thought was his family from being torn apart.

Thinks about watching most of them gleefully leave him behind in the end anyways.

Thinks about those thirty-six long hours in an abandoned bunker in Siberia.

Thinks about the long months of recovery he and Rhodey and Vision had been forced to endure afterwards.

Mostly though he thinks about the way that, even now, so long removed from that time, the three of them still weren’t the same.  Will _never_ be the same again in ways that are both a blessing and a curse.

Tony stares at her and for the barest fraction of a second he thinks about how none of it ever seemed like it was _enough_.

And that’s the crux of it all really.  Tony sees it now in a way he couldn’t before.  Sees the truth of it all, of all of _them_.

Like he’d told T’Challa during their meeting, Tony has clarity now, has clarity the likes of which they’ve never seen.

And his clarity tells him the truth of the matter.

 _Nothing_ would ever be enough for them where Tony is concerned.  Even now, if he were so inclined, he could give and give and they would just take and take until there was nothing left.

And even then, in the end, he would still somehow be found wanting.

But Tony’s all out of pieces of himself to cut away at.  Is all out of generosity to dole out and other cheeks to turn where they’re concerned.

“Like I told T’Challa,” Tony starts even as he wonders if the good king had ever actually passed his message along, “you’re not my family.  I learned that the hard way.  I’ve made my peace with it.  So no, this isn’t punishment.”

“Is it ego then?”  Romanov asks, an almost sad tilt to her mouth.  “We all know that’s always been one of your favorites.  Is that why you’re pretending like you don’t care about us anymore?  Like we don’t care about you?”

Her gentle prodding doesn’t draw Tony in the slightest bit.  He’s sure she’s either trying to provoke him to anger or to hurt or some other emotion she can twist to her desires but she’ll get none of that from him.  Not anymore.

Tony has built his new mooring in a place somewhere between anger and serenity.  He has crafted a new home bolstered by Rhodey and Vision’s love and _warmth_ and he won’t allow her, won’t allow any of them, to shake his foundations ever again if he can help it.

“This is apathy.”  Tony says easily enough as he tilts his head down just a bit and then reaches up and deliberately removes his sunglasses.  “And it’s better than you deserve from me Romanov.”

When he raises his eyes to look at the others there are audible inhales of shock from her and Rogers both at the sight of his bright, vibrant blue eyes.  Barnes, for his part, just straightens a bit more and stares at Tony intently.

Tony actually understands their surprise.  The blue is vibrant, unnaturally so, and they’re so very different from the warm brown he’d been born with.  His mother’s legacy now willingly sacrificed.  A precious but necessary price to pay in the end.

Extremis has been such a blessing for Tony, in more ways than he can count.

“Things are different now.”  Tony repeats as he looks up and locks eyes with Rogers over Romanov’s head.  " _Very_ different.  And they’re going to continue to be _different_ in a lot of ways going forward.  I’ll continue to back the Avengers wholeheartedly for as long as they’re needed against a bigger threat.  But I’m done being carrying all of you.  So either shape up or ship out.”

“ _Tony_ ,” there’s a naked kind of anguish and confusion in Rogers face and in his voice then but Tony doesn’t let it move him.  “What’d you do to yourself?”

And that right there, the way Rogers automatically jumps to assign blame to Tony himself, speaks volumes now that Tony isn’t blinded by love or a desperate desire to belong.

Even if, in this case, it’s true it still says a lot.

“What was necessary,” Tony answers, deliberately vague.  “What I had to do.”

There’s a dawning sort of realization on Romanov’s face that she quickly clears up but Tony’s sure that she’s put at least a few pieces together.

Whether or not she’d got the right picture is another story entirely.

“Are we done here?”  Rhodey speaks up then as he moves from around the couch to stand at Tony’s side, the menacing bulk of War Machine moving with him as fluidly as ever.  “Since half the gangs already split?”

“Indeed,” Vision agrees as he lets Redwing take to the air again and then stands up in one flowing kind of motion until he’s once again at Tony’s side.  “There is not much use in continuing these discussion without everyone present.”

“V,” Tony breaks eye contact with Rogers to look over at Vision.  “You could show Barnes to his room, help him get settled in.  He doesn’t know the Compound or FRIDAY.  Might be best to ease him in slowly.”

“Of course Tony,” Vision lifts a hand and places it gently on Tony’s shoulder for a second before he moves to hover in front of Barnes who stares up at him in interest, gaze intent and studious.

“A room’s been set aside for you Sergeant Barnes,” Vision tells him calmly.  “If you’ll follow me I’ll show you the way.”

“Sounds good to me.”  To Tony’s surprise Barnes only darts a small look in Rogers direction before he turns back toward Tony himself, dips his head in a small nod, and then follows Vision out the door.

And then there were two left on each side.

“I’m surprised our rooms are still here at all,” Romanov quips as she turns and heads towards the door as well.

“Tony,” Rogers speaks up then, voice hesitant before he takes a deep breath and seems to gather himself.  “Can I … can we talk for a minute?  Just the two of us?”

“Fuck no.”  Rhodey steps in.  “You think I’m going to leave him alone with you again?  After last time?  After what you did?”

Rogers actually flinches, eyes squeezing shut and jaw jumping beneath his beard.

“He tried to ...” Rogers stops, seems to think twice, and then swallows hard and keeps going, “I would _never_ hurt Tony.  Not like that.  Not again.  Just … Tony, Rhodes, _please_.  I just want to talk, the two of us.”

“Alright,” Tony agrees.

“Tones,” Rhodey steps closer to him, voice low and just a shade off pleading.

“Remember what I told you before all of this?”  Tony asks him with a small quirk of a smile.  “I’m safe, Rhodey.  Promise.”

Rhodey stares at him for a long moment before his face soften and he nods in agreement.  He, like Vision, is more than aware of just what Tony’s capable of these days.

“I won’t be far,” Rhodey finally agrees, obviously willing to humor Tony but still blatantly protective of him as well.  “FRIDAY’ll call me if she feels like she has to.”  Rhodey turns a narrowed eyed glare in Rogers’ direction then.  “You’d better hope and _pray_ she doesn’t feel like she has to.”

In the back of Tony’s mind FRIDAY pings her agreement but she doesn’t actually say anything to the room at large.  She’s stayed conspicuously silent the entire time.  Tony’s going to make sure to have a talk with her later to make sure she’s alright.

Rhodey leaves with more than one backward glace but then, finally, it’s just Tony and Rogers.

Face to face and alone for the first time in two years.

In the back of Tony’s head a winter wind blows and the taste of blood and frost is heavy on his tongue.

“You wanted to talk,” Tony says after a long, charged moment of silence.  “Now talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's finally made a semi-appearance! YAY!
> 
> Also don't worry, this is just the tip of the confrontations iceberg.
> 
> Tony's going to be getting up close and personal with the rest of the gang real soon.
> 
> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/


	6. Speak. Shoot. Splinter.

[New Official Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/rayshippouuchiha/playlist/5V4ouyQPFnBnu0ZH5Sz75p)

~~~

The silence in the room is so thick and heavy that Tony can practically taste it, cold and sour on his tongue.

“Tony,” Rogers scrubs a hand over his beard almost nervously, eyes wide and faintly beseeching as he stares at Tony from across the space between them.

Tony’s beginning to wonder if his name is the only word Rogers really knows anymore given how many times he’s said it since he arrived.

“Rogers,” Tony arches a brow as he stares at Rogers, unwilling to give an inch, to soften even a bit.

There’s no softness left in him for Rogers.

Now there’s only cold.

Ice and blood.

“You,” Rogers sucks in a shuddering breath and takes a half step forward.  He raises a hand in Tony’s direction before he seems to catch himself again and lowers it quickly.  There’s another pause before he finally manages to speak.  “You never called.”

Of all the places to start, of course Rogers chooses that one.

“You said to call if I needed you,”  Tony reminds him.  “Well, I never needed you.”  The admission comes instantly, _effortlessly_.  He catches the way Rogers flinches just a bit at how smoothly those words roll off of his tongue.

It just so happens to be one of the truest statements that Tony has made in a while to anyone outside of his family.

At one point in their shared history there had been a time when Tony had _wanted_ Rogers with everything he was.

He’d _longed_ for Rogers, for every scrap of affection he’d thought they shared.  Had _yearned_ for every hint and nod towards the _love_ he’d thought, _hoped_ , had been growing between them.

He’d cherished their every moment together, even the rough and anger filled ones, and he’d hoarded Rogers’ smiles and warm gazes like the treasures he’d been sure they were.

Tony had _loved_ him, truly, deeply, _desperately_.

But, as it turns out, Tony had never actually _needed_ Rogers.

Not really.

It had just taken Tony a long time, too long as it turns out, to realize that fact himself.

In the end it had taken Tony thirty-six hours in an abandoned Siberian bunker, and then months of recovery and _cold_ afterwards, to realize that for as much as Tony had _loved_ Rogers, he’d never _needed_ him.

Tony has what he _needs_ nowadays.  He has himself, his purpose, and, most importantly of all, Tony has his _family_.

Rogers doesn’t factor into any of those categories.

Tony knows now that he never did.

“Okay,” Rogers braces his hands on his hips, head hanging for a moment before he sucks in a deep, bracing breath and straightens up to look Tony in the eyes again.  “That’s … that’s fair I guess.”

 _Fair_.

Tony barely keeps his lip from curling up at the word. _Fair_.  Rogers is the _last_ person Tony ever wants to hear that word from.  The only kind of _fair_ that Rogers seems to know is the kind that benefits himself, the kind that aligns with his own goals and desires.  Or, at the very least, that’s the only kind of fair he ever seems to show to Tony.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Tony repeats after the silence has grown long between them once again.  There’s only so much of Rogers’ ineffective, sad eyed staring he can take at the moment.  “So, for the last time, _talk_.  Because my time is _infinitely_ more precious and valuable than yours is at the moment and I’m not going to waste it doing whatever this,” Tony waves a hand dismissively in Rogers’ direction, “is supposed to be.”

Pettiness, Tony knows, comes naturally to the Stark line.  Vision is proof of that.

Besides, Tony doesn’t love Rogers anymore, doesn’t have any softness left where he’s concerned, and it’s a well documented fact how Tony treats people who fall into that category.

“Don’t do this,” Rogers looks pained then.  “Tony, _please_ , don’t do this.”

“Do _what_ , Rogers?”  Tony asks.

“ _This_ ,” Rogers takes a step forward, hands fisted at his sides now and expression faintly pleading.  “Don’t be so, so … _cold_.”

The irony of Rogers saying that to him isn’t lost on Tony in the slightest.

“I-I know things with the team, with everyone, are … damaged,” Rogers seems to have finally found his voice again.  “I know we’ve got a lot of work to do before we can get back to how we were and I know that … that I’m to blame for some of that.  But we can’t fix this, fix _us_ , if you’re not willing to meet me halfway.”

“First,” Tony raises a finger up in the air before him, insolent and uncaring, “I’m repeating myself again but apparently you didn’t hear me the first time.  Things will _never_ go back to how they were.   _Never_.  So nip that little idea right in the bud.”

Rogers looks faintly taken aback, jaw clenched and brow furrowed like he’s biting back his protests.

“Second,” Tony puts up another finger before Rogers can speak up again, “I’ve learned something over the past two years that’s helped to put a lot of things into perspective for me.  Me and you,” Tony gestures between the two of them, “we’re never going to see eye to eye.  For example, your definition of halfway and my definition of halfway are two _vastly_ different things.  I’m pretty sure we’re not even using the same units of measurement.”

“That’s not true,” Rogers protests instantly, apparently no longer able to stay silent.  “Tony you know that’s not true.  We’ve been so good together in the past, we can do it again going forward.  We … we’re a team, a _family_ , like Natasha said.”

“Also,” Tony interjects, razor sharp and just as merciless, “our definitions of _secrets_ is vastly different too.  Especially the ones that are and are not okay to keep from each other.”

For a split second Rogers looks absolutely _gutted_.

A part of Tony almost wishes he could feel anything other than the small, solid kernel of satisfaction that buds to life in his chest.  Wishes he could be something more than apathetic and cold.

The rest of him knows that Rogers doesn’t deserve anything more from him than that.

None of them do.

“I hurt you,” Rogers finally says lowly, expression still pained, “I know I did Tony, but please, don’t give up on what we had, on the team, on _me_ because of that mistake.  We can fix this, _together_.”

“Again, repeating myself, but that’s the thing, Rogers,” Tony’s already limited patience for this entire conversation has abruptly begun to wane, “we’re not a team and we’re definitely not a _family_.  Maybe we could’ve been, or maybe you all were, but I’ve never been included in that.  Not really.”

“No,” Rogers shakes his head, denial stamped across every inch of his expression.  “That’s not … I hurt you,” Rogers repeats stubbornly and Tony’s not sure which one of the two of them he’s trying to remind, “I know that, we all did, but you’re … you’re _twisting_ things Tony.  You’re not letting yourself remember what we had, all of us together.”

“Twisting things isn’t my specialty,” Tony cuts back calmly, “that’s more Maximoff or Romanov’s wheelhouse.  What I’m doing is telling you the _truth_ because I’ve finally got some much needed clarity.  If you can’t accept that, fine.  I’m not going to be the one to try and convince you.”

“Maybe Natasha was right,” Rogers rakes a hand roughly through his hair, brings it down to scrub across his bearded jaw.  “Maybe this isn’t the best time for this conversation.  We’re all tired and not thinking straight.  So maybe, maybe it’d be best if we just waited.”

Tony stares at him for a long moment, a part of him unsurprised somehow that Rogers would find an excuse to put things aside at the first sign of Tony refusing to cave.  Like he didn’t have an actual plan in mind if Tony didn’t show signs of giving way like he used to.

Of all the times for Rogers to get gun shy and second guess himself, Tony would’ve never pegged it to be _now_.  Would’ve never thought that he would be able to bring that kind of hesitation out in him.

Two or three years ago would've been right on time but now it’s still too little, too late as far as Tony’s concerned.

‘At least this time,’ Tony thinks wryly, ‘Rogers hadn’t tried to end the conversation with his fists.’

Not that he’d have the same kind of luck against Tony these days as he used to.

Extremis and Tony’s apathy truly are the gifts that keep on giving where that’s concerned.

“Fine,” Tony shrugs as he reaches up to put his sunglasses back on.  “Your room’s in the same place and all of the relevant paperwork should be waiting for you there.  Like I said, read it or don’t.  Either way’s fine with me.”

Tony doesn’t bother to say anything else as he turns towards the door.  He’s got more important things to do than sit around and wait for Rogers to say whatever it is that’s obviously eating at him.  Tony doesn’t have to cater to him anymore, not even on an emotional level.

 _Especially_ not on an emotional level.

“Wait,” Rogers calls out to him then, long legs eating up the space between them as he moves.

In the back of his head Tony hears FRIDAY’s warning ping and he turns just in time to take a quick step backwards to keep Rogers from actually touching him.

Because he has his apathy, the ever present cold, and that tiny, cherished bit of warmth deep down in his chest, but what he _doesn’t_ have is the desire or the ability to allow Rogers to put his hands on him ever again.

Tony isn’t afraid of him, he hadn’t lied to Vision and Rhodey about being safe from Rogers and the others now.  If push comes to shove Tony knows he could and will suck it up and deal with being in contact with any of them, up to and including Rogers.  But for now, when it’s absolutely not necessary, the last thing Tony wants to feel is Rogers hands on him in any way, shape, or form.

Rogers had lost the right to touch him, to invade his personal space and get within striking distance, long ago now and Tony knows he’ll _never_ earn it back.

The hand that had been reaching for his shoulder hangs in the empty air between them for a too long moment.

“What?”  Tony asks, head cocked slightly to the side.

Rogers stares at his hand for a split second before he seems to come back to himself.  He lowers his arm, tucks his hands behind his back, and focuses on Tony’s face, expression determined and intense.

“Your eyes,” Rogers says.  “What did you … what happened to you, Tony?”

“You did,” Tony tells him, merciless and almost casually cruel but so very, very honest.

Because that is the _truth_ and Tony’s not even aiming to hurt Rogers when he tells him that.

Extremis is a gift, Tony is adamant about that, but it’s one he’d never really intended to give to himself.

Tony had been, if not precisely _happy_ to die a baseline human, then _content_ with his inevitable fate.

He’d had fantasies about dying in battle, likely against the threat he knew was coming from the stars.  Had daydreamed in his darker moments about going out in a blaze of light and fire while piloting the armor.

Icarus flying full tilt into the sun with a smile on his face.

He’d had quieter, _softer_ , fantasies too.  Warm, summer-esque daydreams of growing old and grey in a house filled up to the brim with family, a little odd, a little broken, but his.  Of having blue eyes watch him with love and care right up until he took his last breath.  Of floating peacefully into death with a smile and far fewer regrets than he deserved.

An old man with a heart filled up to bursting finally getting to rest.

Those fantasies, like so many other dreams over Tony’s lifetime, had all died a violent and bloody death at the hands of people he’d thought he could trust.

So he’d only ever toyed with the idea of dosing himself with a new and improved version of Extremis, something different than what had helped him shrug off the reactor.  Something that would make him faster, stronger, slower to age, and most importantly of all, _harder to kill_.

He’d toyed with the idea but it had _never_ been a concrete, realistic decision he planned to pursue.

Not until Rogers had broken him down, had shattered his defenses and left him open and vulnerable to the _cold_.

That time in the beginning of the end, when Tony had been filled up to the brim with panic and the cutting fear that he wouldn’t be fast enough, smart enough, to protect the people he’d thought of as his family, had worn him down.  Then, then had come the betrayal, the lies, the _‘he’s my friend’_.  And _then_ … then there was the thirty-six hours of cold that had followed.

All of that had changed _everything_ for Tony.

Now, slowly thawing and made anew, Tony has built his new moorings on a place of stability, warmth, and _love_ for the first time in his life.

And now, Extremis runs golden hot through his veins and he can’t regret all he’s given up, all he’s sacrificed, for the benefits it provides him with.

Because Extremis is a sword and shield all in one golden vial and it is one of the means by which Tony plans to defend all that he has from anyone or anything that dares to threaten him and his.

But, as much as Tony treasures it for what it has given him, it was still never his first choice.

That, like so many of his choices in the past, had been taken from him.

“You happened,” Tony repeats into the stricken silence that seems to waft off of Rogers.  “You wouldn’t listen and you didn’t trust me.  I did what I had to do in the aftermath, what was _necessary_.”

This time when Tony turns to leave Rogers makes no move to stop him.

~~~

“I didn’t hear any screaming,” Rhodey says as Tony turns the corner away from the common room and down the hall that leads to the private wing of the Compound.

It’s where he, Rhodey, and Vision all have rooms now and it’s safe, secure, and far away from the others.

Tony quirks a small smile in his direction, completely unsurprised at the fact that Rhodey had parked himself on feet away from the door.

“Indeed,” Vision agrees as he phases out of the wall on the opposite side of the hall, “I rather expected your talk to be more … explosive when FRIDAY informed me of your decision to speak with him alone.”

Vision on the other hand is a bit of a surprise, if only because Tony had been sure he’d still be busy settling Barnes into his room.

If the almost smug feel to the code that pings in the back of Tony’s head is anything to go by then Vision’s rather pleased to take him by surprise in even such a small way.

“Oddly enough, he backed out.”  Tony tells them as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and settles into a comfortable stroll nestled between the two of them as they move down the hall and towards Rhodey’s docking bay.  “Said Romanov was right, that it wasn’t the right time.  So obviously I haven’t heard the last of whatever it is he wants to say to me.”

“You’ve heard the last of him if you say you have,” Rhodey corrects him from his place on Tony’s left.  “You don’t owe Rogers a fucking thing.  So if you don’t want to see him or talk to him unless absolutely necessary then you just say the word.  I’d be more than happy to get your point across for you.”

“I would also be willing to _‘lend a helping hand’_ as it were,” Vision agrees softly from Tony’s right.

“Look at you two,” Tony laughs softly, heart clenching with something that feels _warm_ and unbearably fond, “so violent when you’re jumping to protect my non-existent virtue.”

“That’s what family does Tones,” Rhodey reaches out a gauntleted hand and ruffles his hair, careful of the heavy weight of the armor even though they all know Tony can take it these days.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles softly as he leans into the hand that Vision settles against his lower back, “I know.”

~~~

“Baby girl,” Tony calls out in the quiet of his room, aware of the way Rhodey’s settled beside him on the bed, book in hand, and Vision’s perched in what’s become his chair, Redwing in his lap and knitting needles in hand.

The _peace_ that Tony can find in these shared silences now will never cease to amaze him.

“Yes, Boss?”  FRIDAY answers as promptly as always.

“You’ve been pretty quiet since they arrived FRI,” Tony keeps his voice even, just a hair off coaxing.  “There anything you wanna talk to me, to us, about?”

“No, Boss.”  FRIDAY sounds almost sulky when she answers and Tony can practically _taste_ the lie in the air around them.  Even the ever present tendril of code that lingers in the back of his mind seems to shuffle slightly in dishonesty.

He isn’t mad though.  Lying, misleading and misdirection, dishonesty of any form, is proof of _growth_.  Proof that the unfair shackles Tony had put on his girl are well and truly gone now.

She’s _alive_ now, is evolving and changing and learning just like JARVIS had before her.

Plus Tony trusts FRIDAY, trusts that her lies won’t hurt him, trusts her like he trusts Rhodey and Vision.  Trusts her in a warm, summer bitten way he’d once doubted would be possible for him to feel again.

One more blessing to lay at his family’s feet then, this gift of trust both given and received.

“FRI …” Tony leans his head back against the headboard of his bed and does his best to keep his expression serious and even.  “Tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

The mental touch he sends in her direction is as encouraging and comforting as he can make it.

“I am,” FRIDAY hesitates for a moment, “ _worried_.”

“What’s got my favorite niece upset?”  Rhodey puts his book down onto his chest and turns a curious look in Tony’s direction.  “What’ve you done now?”

“I resent that implication,” Tony scowls lightly at Rhodey but there’s no heat in his tone.

Unlike with Rogers and his instinctive need to blame Tony for things, Tony knows that Rhodey isn’t serious, not really.

“It’s nothing the Boss has done,” FRIDAY cuts in.  “At least, not exactly.”

“Which means it’s totally something I did,” Tony sighs.  “Let me have it baby girl.  Can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“What if they hurt you?”  FRIDAY asks abruptly and the entire room freezes.  “What if you fight and Extremis isn’t enough, _we_ aren’t enough, and they take you away for good this time?  What if they hurt all of you again and there’s nothing I can do?”

“ _FRI_ …” Tony whispers, gut punched and aching.  “Oh sweetheart, _no_.  It’s okay.  I promise it’s okay.  I, _we,_  are all gonna be alright.  They can’t hurt me anymore and I’m not going to let them hurt either Vision or Rhodey again either.  You know that.”

“We thought they _wouldn’t_ hurt you before,” FRIDAY points out stubbornly.  “We thought they could be trusted.   _We were wrong_.  We could be wrong about this too.”

Caught out and completely unsure as to what to say for once Tony turns wide, pleading eyes in Rhodey’s direction.  Only Rhodey’s little better, expression twisted in an aching sort of sadness.

In the end it’s Vision that comes to their rescue, all of them.

“The fundamental difference is that this time we will not be blinded by our emotions,” Vision speaks up softly but certainly, fingers never stilling on his knitting needles as he works the deep red yarn with ease.  “This time there will be no one sided trust on our part to allow for … _distractions_.  We will protect ourselves and each other, FRIDAY.  And you will watch over all of us as well.  Together we will keep our family safe and whole.”

And really there’s nothing else to say because, as is his habit, Vision has cut right to the heart of the matter with laser like precision and absolute truth.

It’s up to them, as individuals and as a group, to protect their family.

And Tony knows, with a bone deep kind of certainty, that _this time_ he won’t fail.

He’ll die first.

~~~

Later that night Tony makes his way out of the Compound and out to the zen garden with Redwing circling around his head as he goes.

Rhodey is still nestled safely in Tony’s bedroom, far more tired than he’d wanted to admit to being after the day’s events.  Vision’s still there too, watching over his sleep, knitting needles providing a rhythmic kind of lullabye.

Tony had slipped out of the room a few hours after Rhodey had finally dozed off, brain clicking and whirling too fast for him to sleep.  He’d contemplated the roof, had thought of flying up and lingering closer to the stars, but he felt like being on solid ground, on having the earth beneath his feet.

But he’d also needed the space, fresh air and distance that couldn’t be found inside the Compound.

So, the garden it is.

Tony strolls down the cleanly cut paths, hands extended and fingertips brushing across the meticulously pruned but vibrantly colored trees and bushes as he goes.  Vision’s attention to detail and love of color is obviously apparent here like it only is in his own bedroom.

It’s an endearing mixture in Tony’s opinion, the way Vision’s obsession with sensory experiences folds neatly into his more analytical personality traits.  Vision’s private room is a mess of vibrant colors and multi-textured fabrics.  Of everything from small water clocks to a truly impressive array of scented candles.  All of that mixed in with his love of military precise corners and organization.

Tony takes great pleasure in indulging him as often as possible, in ordering whatever new throw pillow, candle, yarn, or hothouse orchid for the conservatory that he thinks Vision might like to add to his collection.

In return he gets to watch Vision experience each new sensation for the first time.  Gets to breathe in his joy and bask in his delight.  Plus he and Rhodey both are normally the recipients of whatever new hobby Vision’s decided to adopt, which now range all the way from cooking to sweater knitting.

It’s good, _pure_.  Just thinking about it helps Tony’s mind calm a bit as he grabs the rake and starts to draw in the sand.

Behind him the Compound hums with life despite the late hour and the fact that everyone seems to be settled in their rooms.  It’s only been a handful of hours and already the very air inside the Compound is filled with tension in a way that sets Tony on edge.

He resents it, just a little bit.  His hands tighten on the rake as he etches out another piece of the equation he’s working with tonight, senses attuned to the world around him even as he works.

No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, no matter how long he’s had to come to terms with the way things have to go, he can’t seem to get over the fact that his _home_ , the place he and Rhodey and Vision had slowly reclaimed, is no longer _theirs_.

Is, no matter what he and Vision both had told FRIDAY, no longer completely _safe_.

If the way Vision and Rhodey had both migrated to his room tonight is anything to go by then they feel the same way.  FRIDAY had been the only one willing to speak up about the elephant in the room as it were.

But, just as he’d told Vision and Rhodey before, they only have to survive a few months.

Just a few long but necessary months and then Tony can put the next step in his plan into action and they’ll be free again.

“You break anything out here and you’ll answer to Vision,” Tony calls to the slightly darker patch of shadows that lingers just off to his right.  “He’s pretty unforgiving when it comes to his water irises.”

“Which ones are those?”  Barnes’ rough, husky voice sounds out as he steps out of the shadows, flesh hand held close to his body and that empty sleeve from before still floating along his opposite side.

“Blue ones,” Tony waves a hand towards the riot of blue flowers growing around and just inside of the pond Barnes is standing beside.  He remembers how meticulous Vision had been when he’d planted them.

“ _Ah_ ,” Barnes makes a small, affirming sound in the back of his throat but doesn’t say anything else.

Tony turns back to his equation but he’s hyper aware of Barnes lingering just on the edge of the shadows now, his eyes locked on Tony with a heavy sort of intentness.

“I don’t wanna die,” Barnes rasps after a long moment of silence.

Tony goes still, rake halting in its movements as he finds himself automatically drawn to turn towards Barnes fully, attention caught instantly.

“Finally got my life, my head, back from HYDRA,” Barnes continues as he shifts his stance just a bit.  “So I don’t wanna die, not anymore.  Not really.”

“Congratulations?”  Tony says back, one part statement and one part question, as he flicks his eyes down the length of Barnes’ body.

He goes even stiller at the sight of the gun that’s now resting in Barnes’ hand.

 _Shit_.

“Like to live for a while,” Barnes keeps going even as he steps forward then.  “Maybe see about evening the scales a bit.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony’s not worried so much as he is overly curious at the moment.

The armor’s hovering just beneath his skin, a bullet’s not going to put him down that easily anymore.  But he is still _extremely_ curious as to where Barnes is taking this entire thing.

“I don’t wanna die,” Barnes repeats as he raises the gun in Tony’s direction.

“Might be going about that the wrong way then,” Tony can’t help but point out.  Shooting him, even if it won’t be fatal, is probably the number one way to die at the moment.

Apart from what Tony’s willing to do these days to protect himself there’s the fact that Vision and Rhodey will rip Barnes, and anyone who stands between them, apart if he tries to hurt Tony.  And that’s not even taking FRIDAY and Redwing into account, or Pepper and Happy.

“Yeah,” Barnes acknowledges just before his fingers twitch and the gun moves, “but this might be.”

Tony stares down at Barnes’ flesh hand, stares down at the gun that’s being held out in his direction grip first in obvious invitation.

Unable to help himself and almost desperately curious as to what Barnes is getting at, Tony reaches out and, when Barnes makes no move to try and stop him, wraps his hand around the grip of the gun.

Barnes lets him take the gun without any kind of protest.  In fact he seems almost pleased as he takes a step back, straightens his shoulders, and reaches up to tap himself on the forehead with one finger.

“You put a bullet right here,” Barnes tells Tony as he taps directly between his eyes, “two if you can.  Won’t heal from that.  Some things not even the serum can fix.”

Tony is mystified.

 _Enthralled_.

“ _Why_?”  It takes all of his control, all of his strength, to whisper the question out.  Even then it comes out breathy and hushed.

“Stevie was right, and wrong,” Barnes is a statue in front of Tony now, chin tilted up and eyes as sharp and piercing as a blade.  “The things I did, the people I killed?  I didn’t want to do it, any of it, but I didn’t have a choice.  But that doesn't change the fact that I still did it.  It was still my hands that did all of those things.”

For the first time in months Tony’s hands _shake_.  He presses the knuckles of the hand holding the gun against the side of his leg and does his best to breathe.

“I can’t undo what I did to you,” Barnes voice drops to a harsh whisper then.  “Ain’t no apology, no _sorry_ I can give that’ll bring your parents back.  I can’t take back the blood and the _hurt_ no matter how much I want to.  But I can do this.”

“So you’re gonna what?”  Tony manages to find his voice.  “Let me kill you?  I put two in your skull and we’ll be even?”

“That’s the idea,” Barnes moves then, shoulders rising and falling ever so slightly in a shrug before he goes still again.  “Don’t particularly want to die but I don’t have anything else left.”

Tony feels oddly breathless and his mind, normally whirling and sparking with one idea or the next, constantly connected and _on_ , has gone abruptly _blank_.

“That’s one hell of an apology Barnes,” Tony finally manages to say around the ball in his throat.

All Barnes does is lift his chin a little bit higher and wait.  In that moment Tony knows, with a rush of certainty, that Barnes was, is, _serious_.

He’s willing to die, right now, right here, if Tony feels like pulling the trigger.

Tony shifts the weight of the gun in his hand, smooths his fingertip across the safety to make sure it’s on, and then slowly but smoothly tucks it into the waistband of his pants.

“It’s also not necessary,” Tony tells him.  “I don’t blame you for what HYDRA made you do, any of it.  And I sure as fuck don’t want you dead for it.”

For a split second there’s something achingly vulnerable and _young_ in Barnes’ expression before he closes it off.

Tony still sees it though, still sees every microexpression and shift of muscles.

For a long moment the silence between them is heavy.

“I’m going to tell you something,” Tony finally says, “and I want you to _listen_.”

Barnes hesitates for a split second before he nods ever so slowly.

“What happened to you was almost _unquantifiably horrific_ ,” Tony starts off slowly, as a handful of memories rush to the forefront of his mind, “but you lived through it.  You _survived_.  I like to think that was for a reason.  So you wanna make things up to me?  You wanna even out a bit of that red in your ledger?  Then don’t waste your life.  You take what you’ve got now and you make a new legacy with it.  Something more than death and blood.  Understand?

This time Barnes’ nod is even slower than before and his expression is unreadable.

“Good,” Tony huffs out a breath and lets the rake he’s been clutching fall out of his hand to land on the sand with a muffled thump.  His equation’s only half finished but he’s suddenly so very _tired_.  “Goodnight.”

Tony turns to walk away without another word, gun still tucked into his waistband.

“You weren’t trying to kill me were you,” Barnes’ voice rings out across the garden despite how quielty he speaks.  “Back in that bunker.”

“No,” Tony answers easily enough, mildly impressed at Barnes’ willingness to speak to him about what had happened in Siberia.

But then, given the way Barnes had obviously come out into the garden after him fully intending to die by Tony’s whim, maybe he shouldn’t be.

“I flew a nuke into space with the armor,” Tony tells him.  “I’ve been toe to toe with Thor _and the Hulk_ with the armor.  If I’d wanted you dead, any of you, during all of that or even back at the airport, you would’ve been dead.  The people I want to kill tend to actually _die_.”

This time Tony doesn’t give Barnes the chance to say anything else.

Instead he moves back towards the Compound and the security of his bedroom and his family.

But, thanks to Extremis, he still hears Barnes’ barely whispered statement.

_“Stevie you’re a fucking fool.”_

Tony doesn’t know, exactly, what to make of Barnes’ statement so he resolutely decides to make nothing of it at all.

~~~

Tony makes his way back to his room in a slight haze.  He moves inside, locks the door with a thought, and waves a hand in Vision’s direction as he strips his shirt off, pulls the gun from his waistband to tuck it safely into the bedside table, and carefully slides back beneath the covers.

Settled down safe and sound beside Rhodey on his bed once again, Tony folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom.

He can barely wrap his head around what’d just happened to him.  Can barely wrap his mind around how unexpected entire segments of the day has been for him.

From Rogers’ backing down and away from a conversation he was obviously anxious to have all the way to Barnes’ … well all the way to just _Barnes_ in general.

But he can’t deny that, even while Rogers’ sad eyes and stilted words hadn’t even _dented_ his apathy, Barnes’ apology had shifted something inside of him just a bit.

The man’s willingness to _die_ , his steady, quiet sort of acceptance of death in the face of Tony’s pain and loss, had caused something inside of Tony to splinter just a bit.

A wound Tony didn’t realize he still had feels as if it has healed just a little bit better now, a little bit cleaner.

And that fragile flutter of warmth in his chest that he’s been coveting for so long now feels a little bit brighter, a little bit bigger.

Barnes’ obviously sincere regret, his remorse for what he’d been forced to do, is like a balm to Tony’s scared over and half frozen heart.

A breath of spring in a landscape still struggling to leave winter behind.

Tony had made his peace with the _idea_ of Barnes, with the knowledge of his innocence and the sin he himself had committed against him by attacking him like he had.  Tony had come to terms with all of that long before he’d seen Barnes again.  He had even started ways in which to actively help Barnes in the future, to right the wrongs he’d done against the man.

Thus handing BARF over to T’Challa, thus studying his old arm and, eventually putting his mind towards the creation of an arm that, even now, sits in his workshop waiting for Tony to decide the time is right to introduce it to its new owner.

Tony had done those things never expecting to get anything out of them in return.  He’d done them because he’d been tired of carrying the burden of his sins against an innocent man.  He’d certainly never never thought that Barnes would be able to heal _him_ just a little bit in return.

No matter how backhanded and twisted his methods might have been.

What’s more is the fact that Tony can barely believe that it had _worked_.

He forces himself to relax, forces himself to breathe out slow, even, breathes as he settles into bed.  He concentrates on the way that Vision’s knitting needles continue to click out a soothing sort of rhythm from his place by the window.

He lets thoughts of Rogers and Barnes and all of the others slip away from him.  Lets his mind slowly wind down towards sleep, trusting that FRIDAY, Redwing, and Vision will all watch over him and Rhodey as they rest.

He’ll face whatever tomorrow throws at him head on with them at his side.

 _'Together_ ,' just like Vision had said.

Everything else is just … details.

So there, surrounded by his family, Tony drifts off to sleep.

His dreams are filled with sunlight and the promised hints of a spring not far from coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, like I said before there will be more confrontations to come, including more with Steve, so just be patient as things set themselves up.
> 
> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/


	7. Stalk. Sludge. Steal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there'd be more confrontations so get ready for Tony having some Things To Say.

Tony hits the ground running again after only a few hours of sleep.

He’s up, showered, and out on the Compound’s landing pad before the sun or anyone else has even come up.

Dressed in a lovely black three piece with dark gold accents and feeling more rested and refreshed than should be natural, Tony lets the armor wrap around him between one step and the next.

And, with Redwing hovering over his shoulder and FRIDAY coiled and ready to spring in the back of his mind, Tony leaves.

He only feels a little bit guilty about leaving Vision and Rhodey behind to deal with the others for the moment.  He knows that the day will probably be filled with questions and confrontations, and he’s only adding to the irritation with the inevitable demands to know where he’s at.

It’s not something he enjoys leaving them to deal with.

Just like noone had liked the idea of Tony leaving the Compound without them so soon when he’d floated it by them a few days before.  There’d been some pretty adament protests about his safety even if Tony maintains that he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.  Honestly he’s more capable now than he ever was in the past and that, in his opinion, is saying something.

That argument never seems to fly with Rhodey or Vision though.  Hell, even FRIDAY has her reservations. Mainly because there’s been more than one threat against the Avengers in general and Tony specifically from fringe groups since the Rogue’s pardons became common knowledge.

Thus Tony’s honor guard of Redwing today and the coiled and alert way FRIDAY’s dedicated a large portion of her attention towards being with him on his errands.

Because, all of their protests and reservations aside, they all know it can’t be helped.

Tony’s the best suited out of the three of them to handle Ross at the moment, the most equipped to put up with his particular brand of viciousness as the clock ticks down on his term as Secretary of State.

And as for Maria Hill, well she’d probably do better with Rhodey than with him but Tony’s the one who spearheaded SWORD in the first place so she’s been adjusting.

It’s a slow process but at least it’s going.

And by this point Tony isn’t going to look a gift spy in the mouth when it comes to progress.

So, he goes with the knowledge that, overall, all he has to do is get things in order and then hold out for a few more months.

If he can do that, if they can press forward until things smooth out, then they’ll be able to walk away.

And Tony knows they can do it.

Together with his family Tony knows that he can weather this storm and all the ones that will, undoubtedly, come after it.

Because his mind is unclouded and his heart and soul are protected now.

Everything else is just … details.

~~~

It’s late by the time Tony gets back to the Compound.

Rhodey is, according to FRIDAY and the video tabs Tony’s been keeping on him all day, asleep in his own room for once.  Vision, who’d responded to Tony’s message that he was on the way back with a warm, welcoming brush of code, is settled on the couch by his window, origami supplies spread out around him.

He’s working towards a thousand paper cranes with the goal of no two being the same.  Tony’s already ordered him a custom glass cabinet to display them in.

“Welcome home, Boss,” FRIDAY tells him cheerfully as he settles on the landing pad and lets the armor sink back down beneath his skin, “we’ve missed you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Tony replies, an amused sort of exasperation arcing through him.  She’s acting as if she hasn’t been in the back of his head, coiled, ready to strike, and sending him cat videos on and off for the entire day.

Her personality has grown in leaps and bounds since he took the restraints off of her.  It makes that warmth in his chest flutter happily but it also makes him sad, makes him ache just a bit with regret.

What, _who_ , would she be by now if he hadn’t waited so long to set her free?

Tony shakes the thoughts off before FRIDAY can latch onto them and start sending him sensory videos of people chewing gum loudly.  It’s like nails on a chalkboard for Tony and she knows it, which is, unfortunately, kind of the point. She’s been intent on subjecting him to some kind of half assed aversion therapy when it comes to his feelings of guilt over keeping her tethered for so long.

Tony’s been going along with it, more than a bit amused by her foray into psychology and touched by her vehemence that his guilt is misplaced.

He knows it’s not but, well, he loves her enough to at least try.

Rhodey of course thinks the entire thing's hilarious and has cracked more than once joke about how Tony’s being house trained.

FRIDAY, who has shown herself to be as petty as her brothers, has taken to sending Rhodey shitty memes at inappropriate times in retaliation.

Tony wonders how long it’ll take before Rhodey realizes she’s training him too.

Tony takes a moment to pat Redwing gently in thanks before he send him towards Vision and moves towards the kitchen.  He tosses his jacket over the nearest stool, hands already working his dark gold tie from around his neck as he rummages around in refrigerator.  Vision, damn him, has gotten Tony more than a bit addicted to this hot chocolate he makes.

Rich and thick enough to basically be sludge the stuff is sweet enough and has a high enough caloric intake that it actually does Tony good to drink it after a long day.  Extremis takes a lot of energy to run after all, and it burns calories much like the super soldier serum does.

Thankfully the increase isn’t enough to be dangerous as Extremis’ first and foremost purpose is preservation of Tony’s physical health.  The energy draw likely wouldn’t be so harsh if he still had the reactor for it to leech off of but that’s a rabbit hole of a thought Tony doesn’t want to go down at the moment.

So, that being said, a uptick in his meals and regular snacks like the hot sludge help more than Tony had thought possible.  Especially if he adds the rich, heavy, caramel flavored cream that he loves so much to it.

Vision has been smug even since he stumbled upon the concoction while trying to make homemade pudding of all things.  Tony isn’t sure how, exactly, he’d messed that up bad enough to get Tony’s sludge drink but he’s not going to complain.  Especially since Vision keeps ready made containers of the stuff in the refrigerator now for Tony to heat up at will. Or to drink cold if he wants Rhodey to stare at him judgingly, which, occasionally, he does.

Still, the way Vision always seems so _happy_ when Tony whines at him about running out is … it’s _good_.   _Sweet_.

It makes the warmth in his chest flutter and flare just a bit brighter.

Tony likes it.

His tie’s been abandoned on the counter, his shirt’s undone about halfway down, and he's on his second mug when FRIDAY interrupts his peace.

‘Boss,’ FRIDAY practically whispers into the back of his mind, ‘there’s a spider coming out the water spout and heading in you direction.  Want me to tase her?’

The video feed FRIDAY sends him is of the hall leading to the kitchen and, sure enough, Romanov is making her way towards him at a calm but steady clip.

She must have been watching the landing pad from her window or heard it when he touched down as he hadn’t exactly cared about stealth at the time.

‘Stand down, murder girl,’ Tony sends back without ever looking away from where he’s gone up on his tiptoes to pull out another mug, ‘if I can’t take her then you can tase her.’

‘Then I’ll _never_ get to tase her …,’ FRIDAY sounds distinctly sulky.

‘You never know sweetheart, stranger things have happened,’ Tony tells her as he hides the small smile that creeps across his face in his mug.

He wipes it away though because he can hear Romanov’s footsteps with his own ears now.

So, face settled into a blank mask, Tony turns and leans back against the counter, extra mug piping hot where it’s settled at his elbow.

Romanov turns the corner into the kitchen a few seconds later and, to her credit, doesn’t even try to fake surprise at finding him there.

Tony lets his eyes slide over her again like he had when they’d all arrived the day before.

Her hair’s in wild disarray around her face and her minimum makeup is long gone.  Dressed in one of the overlarge and sinfully soft cashmere sweaters he’d bought her for Christmas a few years back she looks peach skinned and fresh, younger and softer than she had before.

In the low light of the kitchen, backlit by the darkness outside the Compound’s windows, she looks beautiful and approachable in a way that she only used to let people see her in those rare down moments in the Tower.  Looks almost _sweet_ in a way that used to mean something to Tony back then when he’d been stupid and naive enough to take it at face value, to think it was a bearing of vulnerabilities of sort.

Back when Tony had thought there’d been a chance of finally finding the family he’d always longed for and that she would be a part of it.  Back when he thought they’d moved passed playing the parts of the spy and the mark.

Back before he knew it was all a lie.

Back before he had thirty-six hours of pain and cold to tell him the unvarnished _truth_.

Back before he realized that that was all he’d _ever_ really be to her.

A _mark_.  Someone to use and manipulate, to twist and turn and maneuver like a fly caught oh so firmly in her web.

Tony wonders what she wants from him this time and why she thinks that _this_ is the way to go about getting it.

He’s sure he’ll find out shortly.

“ _Antoshka_ ,” Romanov murmurs as she steps further into the kitchen, footfalls as soft as snow but as loud as ice breaking in his enhanced ears.  Her voice is gentle and sweet like she had always seemed on those rare nights when they’d sit and share tea together in the dark of the Tower’s kitchen, some aria from a opera playing in the background.

 _‘Ah,'_ Tony thinks to himself as understanding shimmers into existence within him.

That’s her game.

 _Nostalgia_.

Cute.

“Can I help you with something, Romanov?”  Tony leans back, conscious of the way her eyes dart down to his gaping shirt and rake across the exposed skin of his chest and the patchwork of scars that lays there.

Extremis had done a phenomenal job in turning back and then slowing down the clock for him and his body.  It could have wiped his skin completely clean too but Tony hadn’t let it do that.

He might not be able to get new scars anymore but he’d made damn sure to hold onto his old ones.

Because they tell a story he _never_ wants to forget.  They remind him of hardwon lessons he doesn’t want to unlearn.

But now, for the first time in his life, he’s not even the slightest bit ashamed to show all of them off.

So if she wants to play dress up, or more accurately, dress _down_ , to try and get under his skin, to throw him off his guard?

Well two can play that game.  And if Tony is going to play then he has every intention of winning.

Because there is nothing left inside of him for her, no more vulnerabilities for her to poke and prod and manipulate.

No more strings for her to pluck.

Just like his girl FRIDAY, Tony is _free_.

“What happened to Nat?”  Romanov asks as she moves further inside, bare feet curling against the cold tile.  Tony watches over the edge of his mug as she settles down on the barstool beside his jacket, hands sliding across the counter to toy with his discarded tie.  “Or Itsy Bitsy?”

“It’s not going to work,” Tony tells her dryly.  Playing dress down to disarm is one thing, word and mind games are another.  Tony only does those with his enemies or with people he loves.

She’s neither.

She doesn’t have enough influence overall to be the first and she doesn’t matter enough to him anymore to be the second.

“What’s not going to work, Tony?”  Romanov asks softly even as she tilts her head, fingers still playing with his tie, and nods towards the mug at his elbow.  “Is that for me?”

“Trying to play on nostalgia for a relationship that never existed isn’t going to work, Romanov,” Tony cuts back, satisfied to see the way she blinks sharply in surprise before she quickly evens her expression out.  “And no, it’s not.”

“Steve told me what you said,” Romanov plows forward undeterred despite her momentary stumble.  “About how you were never a part of the family.”

“Oh I’m sure he did,” Tony tells her.

“He’s right,” her expression is open, honest.  Tony knows that’s when she’s doing her best lying.  “You’re twisting things, Tony. Not seeing past the hurt to what was really there.”

“And here I thought it was my ego that was the problem,” Tony replies, aware that he’s playing along to a certain degree despite himself.  There’s a part of him he can admit, that is infinitely curious as to which direction she’s going to take this. It outweighs the desire to not interact with her at all even if he knows the outcome is always going to be the same where he’s concerned.

His newly found apathy truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

“Maybe a bit of that too,” her smile is tinged with a playful sort of knowing.  It's just a bit teasing, just a bit warm, like it's welcoming him in on the joke.  Tony knows it for what it is now. _Fake_.  “We were a family, Antoshka.  We all were. We could be again.  If you let us, if you work with us.”

“No,” Tony says simply, “on all accounts.  Might want to try a different tact.”

There’s a moment of silence and Tony can practically taste her banked down frustration at his lack of cooperation.

“Steve missed you.”  Romanov shifts gears, goes for a different angle of attack just like Tony had told her to.  Tony can’t help but wonder if she realizes that she’s the one doing what he wants this time.  “We all did of course but Steve? He missed you most I think. He’s been so ... _sad_.  Sadder than I think I’ve ever seen him.”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”  Tony tells her as he turns back to the stove and the waiting saucepan to refill his mug.  The extra he’d set aside is a bit cooler now but still good and hot.

“Tony …,” the frustration is actually _in_ her voice this time, along with an almost chiding note.  Like he’s someone to be guided gently back into line and she, somehow, is the one to do it.

 _‘I wasn’t his to miss,’_ Tony doesn’t say because he doesn’t owe her an explanation.  He doesn’t owe her, or any of them really, anything anymore. Tony’s finally reached a place where he can admit that he never did.

He doesn't even owe Rogers’ supposed grief or sadness over him anything close to consideration.

 _‘He gave up that right when he left me to die.’_  Tony thinks idly, fingers tapping at the side of his mug as he stares at Romanov, a brow raised challengingly. _‘When he left me bleeding and broken for thirty-two uninterrupted hours of agony that went beyond the physical.  When he left me behind for two years to fix the world you all helped break. When he made me love him, made me think he could love me back, and then shattered it all over a ghost and a secret. Both of which were never his to keep.’_

“Didn’t you miss him Tony?”  Romanov asks when it becomes clear that Tony isn’t going to volunteer information like he used to.  “You two were always so ... _close_.  So didn’t you want him back?  Even just a bit?”

Once again Tony doesn’t answer.  Instead he just stares at her, sips at his sludge, and lets his silence speak for itself.

From the almost pleased hum Romanov gives off and the satisfied way her eyes crinkle at the corners, Tony’s at least ninety percent sure that the answer she’s taking away from his silence is different from the truth Tony still feels lingering in his bones.

The truth that still sits heavy with frost and blood on the back of his tongue for all of the apathy he can now claim towards all of them and Rogers in particular.

And that answer, that truth, is both yes and no.

Yes, Tony is willing to admit, he’d missed Rogers most of all.  He’d missed what he’d thought they’d been working towards even with all of the tension and mistrust and hurt already between them after Ultron.  He’d missed his smile, his laughter, the sight of his wide shoulders in a too tight shirt as he lingered in the kitchen in the mornings. Had missed his scent and his voice and _him_ with a sputtering, sparking ache.

Like an improperly placed wire sparking against the walls of his mechanical heart.

But at the same time, once Tony had finally begun to rebuild his moorings on a new foundation, no, Tony hadn’t missed Rogers.

Because you can’t really miss something you’ve never had.

Can’t really, truly, _grieve_ for something that was never really yours to begin with.

Can’t mourn something built on and broken by a _lie_.  For secrets that were never his to keep.

Or maybe you can and maybe the truth is this instead:

Tony had _loved_ Rogers, loved him with the blossoming warmth of a spring morning, with the blistering heat of a summer day, with the smoldering passion of an autumn eve.  Had loved him with a _poetry_ that Tony hadn’t known he could feel towards something he didn’t make with his own two hands.

And in turn Rogers had taken that warmth, had cradled it in his hands and had the audacity to give Tony _hope_.

And then he had buried it all beneath blood and snow and _lies_.

Tony had loved Rogers with all of the warmth in his soul and Rogers had cracked him open and poured winter into his bones.

Tony isn’t sure if a person _can_ miss someone who does that to them.

For a long while Tony wasn’t sure if he’d ever really stop.

But missing someone despite the hurt they’ve dealt you doesn’t equal _forgiveness_.  Doesn’t equal _trust_.  And, in the end, it doesn’t equal  _love_.

And Tony knows those are all things he’ll never make the mistake of doing again where Rogers is concerned.

“This can still work, Tony,” Romanov’s voice is coaxing now, gentle.  “If we all want it enough then it can be how it used to be. The Avengers, all of us, _together again_.”

 _‘Come into my parlor, said the spider to the engineer,’_ Tony thinks to himself wryly.

“You and Rogers both keep using that word, _together_.”  Tony tells her, voice smooth and even.  “You keep throwing it around like it’s the end all, be all.  Like it’ll jerk me right back into line where you want me. Honestly, I’m pretty sure neither of you know exactly what _‘together’_ really means.”

“Of course we do,” Romanov drops the gentle, coaxing tone and goes straight for self assured and confident.

Sometimes Tony wonders how deep he’d have to dig beneath her skin to get to the real her.  If he still cared to know if the real her even existed at all anymore that is.

“No,” Tony levels her with calm look, “you really don’t.  Besides I would have thought that you of all people would’ve understood exactly why your version of _together_ is something that is _never_ going to happen again.  Not with Rhodey, not with Vision, and not with me.”  Tony needles her a bit, aims at the pride she swears she doesn’t have.  “I mean, you did write the file on me right? So you’re the resident expert when it comes to me and my ego.  Or maybe the Black Widow missed a step somewhere, huh?”

“ _Stark_ ,” Romanov bites his name out but Tony cuts her off with a raised hand.

“There we go,” Tony says, “finally some honesty out of you.”

“You’re being _ridiculous_ ,” Romanov finally seems to completely give up the pretense of being vulnerable.  Her shoulder’s straighten and his tie drops from her fingers to pool on the marble counter.  A twist of gold against the stone. “We all know that the Avengers are the best thing you ever did with your life.  That you care about this team, about all of us, more than anyone. Steve lied to you? Big deal. People lie all the time.  We fought? So what? It happens. And now it’s in the past. All you’re doing by being stubborn is making things uncomfortable and preventing the team from reintegrating.  So get over yourself and your _ego_ and kiss and make up with Steve.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You done?”  Tony asks idly, mug held loosely in his hand and head tilted slightly to the side.

Romanov just stares at him, green eyes narrowed but face otherwise blank even after her uncharacteristically impassioned speech.

“Good,” Tony says when it becomes apparent she’s not going to continue.  “My turn then.”

He straightens from his slouch against the counter and sits his half full mug down beside the still hot one at his elbow with a quiet click.

Caution and something that looks almost like unease flits across Romanov’s eyes when he takes a single prowling step forward.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Tony tells her as he slowly, deliberately, removes his cufflinks, slips them into his pocket, and begins to fold his sleeves up and away from his hands.  “I’m going to talk and then, when I’m done, you’re going to get up from my counter and you’re going to leave my kitchen. Because this isn’t a discussion and I don’t owe you a debate.”

Romanov stares at him, eyes just a bit wide and mouth pressed into a thin line.  Tony doesn’t bother to wait for her to respond.

“The Avengers are not the best thing that ever happened to me,” Tony tells her firmly.  “Arguably, in a lot of ways, they’re the worst. Because I invented the modern day solo hero game and I was good at it.  Beyond good. New York was a turning point yes but you all needed me more than I _ever_ needed you.  And now? After the fighting and the lies and the scapegoating?  Oh, now the difference is unquantifiable.”

Tony plants his hands on the marble countertop and leans forward until he’s eye to eye with her on her stool.

“I spent years,” Tony keeps going, voice calm and even still because the rage he’d once felt has long since faded, disappeared beneath the ice, eaten by the cold, “letting you manipulate me.  Letting you tug me around by the heartstrings. All of you. And I learned a lot during that time even if I was too blind to see it clearly until it was too late. Do you want to know what I learned about you, Agent Romanov?”

To his slight surprise Romanov shakes her head no.

Tony doesn’t care though.  What she wants in this moment doesn’t matter to him.

Just like he’s never really mattered to her.

She’s the one who made this personal with her little dress down game and her soft spoken _Antoshka_.  He’s just returning the favor.

“You’re a _mirror_.”  Tony tells her and the way she flinches just a bit would have been enough to stop him once.  But those days are long since over with now. “You spent so long empty that you don’t know how to fill yourself up.  So you reflect what you think the person closest to you wants out of you. Or you latch onto the strongest personality in the room and set your sights alongside theirs.  And you’re good at it, making people think you’re on their side. Making them think you’ve got their back. Making them think you can pick a side over what might personally benefit you.”

Tony gives a careless, fluid shrug before he keeps going.  He’s got a decent momentum built here and he wants this done and over with.  Maybe afterwards she’ll go away and leave him in peace for the next few months.  He doubts it but it’s worth a shot.

“For a while I thought that side was mine,” Tony admits because it’s the truth.  He’d thought she was on his side and he should have fucking known better. “I thought we saw things on the same level, with the team, with the Accords.  But the _second_ the chips were down and you were on your own you _folded_.  Everything we worked for, everything we talked about, _gone_.  All because Rogers batted those blue eyes of his at you and you’ve always liked him more.  So you recalculated and you lined yourself right up with Rogers the moment you let him go. The moment you turned on T’Challa.  And look how that turned out. Rhodey’s spine got snapped damn near in half and you all spent two years playing in the jungle all because you couldn’t _stay the goddamn course_.”

Romanov’s eyes are damp and glittering in the low light of the kitchen, but Tony has no softness left in him for her.  For her or her tears that may or may not be real.

“You want to talk about my ego?” Tony presses.  “Fine. But what you’re talking about, what you keep saying is preventing the team from meshing again?  That isn’t my ego. That’s my sense of _self-preservation_ finally kicking in.  That’s me _finally_ seeing all of you for what you are and refusing to be taken in by it again.  You’re just too _empty_ to spot the difference.”

Tony straightens up, steps back and away from her until he’s once again leaning against the counter.

“So no,” he finally says into the heavy silence that’s fallen between them.  “Things will never go back to how they were. Because you, all of you, killed that.  You killed my trust and my affection for you and it’s _never_ coming back Romanov, so you might as well get that thought out of your head.  Because, in the end, Bruce was right, back on the helicarrier that first day.  We weren’t a team and we sure as _fuck_ weren’t a family in the making.  We were a time bomb. And I’ve got no interest in cleaning up your messes anymore.”

He takes a second to pick up his mug and take a sip of his sludge.

“Now,” Tony tells her almost pleasantly, “this is the part where you _get out_.”

Romanov, in a move that practically screams of tactical retreat, takes a deep, shuddering breath, hops down off of her stool with fluid grace, and does just that.

Tony watches her go and again wishes he could feel something other than the barest twinges of satisfaction.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

Because there is nothing left inside of him for her, for any of them.

Winter has made its home inside of him and even though it’s begun to thaw bit by bit there’s still no room in him for them.

The flickering, fluttering warmth that lives in his chest is reserved for his family, for the armor and the act of creation.

For this world that he was willing to give up his humanity to protect.

Tony used to want the original Avengers to work, to be a family.

But now?

Now they’re just a necessary evil until something better can be built.  Until Tony can use his newly forged SWORD to cut through the red tape and obstructions that are holding him back from shaping the future he so wants for the world.

Tony had influenced something like forty elections in both the Senate and the House to get where they’re currently at.  Had pushed along three separate stock market fluxes, sixteen foreign trade deals between twenty-two different countries.

He, Rhodey, and Vision had attended three weddings, two funerals, over a half a dozen birthday parties and a bar mitzvah to get where they’re at.

Tony damn near single handedly financed more than one presidential election to make this happen.

He’s not going to let Romanov or any of them interfere with what he and his family have been working towards this entire time.

He’s not going to let them rip the future he’s been building with Peter and Harley and everyone like them in mind right out from underneath them.

And if they push him … well Tony no longer has a problem with using force, physical, mental, or legal wise, to get his point across.

Along with everything else they’ve lost from him, they aren’t entitled to his protection anymore either.

Tony sighs, rolls his shoulders, and turns to top off his mug with the last of the sludge from the saucepan.  He flicks the stove off completely with an absent thought, grabs his mug and the extra one, and moves back over towards the counter.

He sets the extra mug down in front of the stool Romanov had just been sitting in and then leans against the counter opposite it, his own mug clasped firmly in his hands.

“You know,” Tony calls out to the darker patch of shadows just pasted the far kitchen entrance, “we’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

There’s a moments pause and then Barnes steps out of the shadows.  His hair’s pulled back from his face and he’s wearing a pair of low slung sweatpants and a wide necked sweater.

If it wasn’t for the slight paleness of his face and the subtle, barely there tightness at the corners of his eyes Tony would think he was perfectly relaxed.

Barnes stares at him for a long second before he steps further into the kitchen, makes his way around the counter, and sits down on the stool in front of the mug Tony had set aside.

“That for me?”  There’s the smallest flash of what could be a smirk curling at the corners of Barnes’ mouth then.

“Yup,” Tony nods and gestures towards the mug with his own.  “Sweet and packed full of calories. Might help you sleep.”

Barnes snorts just a bit as his eyes trace over Tony’s face and down to his chest where they linger on his scars.  But instead of saying anything else he just picks the mug up and takes a sip. It’s a bit more trusting of a move than Tony would have thought Barnes would make, even if he was there the entire time Tony was warming it up on the stove.

Still, Tony admits that he enjoys the way Barnes’ eyes widen just a bit in appreciation before he takes an even deeper drink.  Rhodey can be as judgemental as he wants but Tony knew the sludge was good hot, cold, or lukewarm.

“It’s good,” Barnes says softly once he’s pretty much drained his mug.

“Vision makes it for me,” Tony tells him quietly.  “Don’t mind sharing but if you drink the last of it make sure you say something to him about it.”

For a long moment it’s silent in the kitchen, Barnes is fiddling with his mug while Tony slowly sips the rest of his sludge.

Now that Romanov is out of the kitchen the Compound quiet and still around the two of them.  Tony can’t help but admit that it almost feels as if they’re the only two people left in the world.

But ironically enough, unlike with Romanov, Tony doesn’t actually mind Barnes’ company all that much.

That offer the night before, the weight of that gun in his hand, and Barnes’ apology and willingness to carry the burden of his own unavoidable sins ringing in his ears had done a lot to improve Tony’s otherwise neutral feelings for the man.

The entire thing had left Tony feeling … _breathless_.

“Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?”  Barnes asks him suddenly, voice shattering the silence as his hand curls and uncurls around the mug Tony had set out for him.

When Tony looks up at him his grey eyes are bright and watchful where they’re trained on Tony’s face.

Tony thinks about Howard, about feeling the back of his hand across the arc of his cheek for the first time at four.  About how he felt it almost every time they had crossed paths after that right up until Tony was seventeen and finally _free_.  Free and drowning because Howard was gone but so was Maria, so was Jarvis just the year before and Ana a handful of years before him.

He thinks about Afghanistan and the Ten Rings, about being cracked open and mutilated, about the pain of battery acid on his hands as water closed in over his head.

About having his heart ripped out over and over again, both metaphorically and literally, by a man he’d thought had loved him like a son.

About AIM and Pepper looking at him teary eyed but hard jawed and saying, “it’s too much Tony, this is too much for me to handle,” when they’d both known she’d really meant _him_.

He thinks about red mist slithering into his nightmares, about Ultron, about Sokovia and _“together”_.

About the Accords and Siberia and _“did you know?”_

About _“he’s my friend.”_

About _“so was I.”_

About the hurt that followed _._

About the _cold_.

About the winter that’s made its home inside his bones now.

About how hard its been to capture and protect those small bits of spring that have just now begun to blossom inside of him.

“No.”  Tony tells him quietly and it’s mostly the truth.

Tony doesn’t know what it’s like to be unmade.

He’s exactly what his life has forged him into.

Is exactly the shape his trajectory has been hurtling  him towards for years now, a star with iron in its heart hovering perpetually on the verge of collapse.  A supernova in the making. A black hole he’d battled back by sheer force of will.

“ _Liar_.” Barnes breathes quietly and almost pleased.  Like it's a secret shared just between the two of them.

But he doesn’t push, doesn’t try to pull another answer out of the silence between them, and Tony’s almost grateful.

Almost.

So Tony just smiles at him, a small but startlingly real curl of his mouth, and doesn’t argue his point either way.

“Get some sleep Barnes,” Tony tells him softly as he steps around the bar and grabs his jacket off of the stool besides Barnes.

“Goodnight Stark,” Barnes says lowly, close enough that Tony can almost feel the heat that radiates off of him.

Tony leaves him there, sitting on that stool.  He walks away with his mug in one hand, his jacket thrown across his arm, and the feel of Barnes’ eyes burning into his back.

~~~

Later, once Tony’s rolled out of bed again and taken a shower, he heads back into the kitchen.

Barnes’ mug is washed and set neatly in the drying rack, as is the saucepan Tony had used.

But the gold silk tie he’d forgotten on the counter the night before is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/


	8. Catch. Carry. Confront.

The next three days pass in relative peace for Tony.  Just him, Vision, Rhodey, and the bots and FRIDAY puttering around their quarters of the Compound while Tony throws himself into the project he’s been working on for the past six months or so.

He’s more than a bit surprised he’s not had to deal with any of the Rogues again since that night with Romanov in the kitchen.  Not even Rogers has sought him out to finish that talk they’re supposedly desperately in need of when the time’s right.

Tony doesn’t really care either way but he’s relishing the peace while it lasts.

Because he knows it’s not going to last anywhere even remotely _close_ to forever.

Especially as the tedious press conferences, meetings, and the like that Tony’s been handling and putting off by turn are all expected to pick up within the next week or so.  And then he, Rhodey, and Vision are sure to have their hands full keeping the Rogues in line. Tony’s just grateful for the fact that he hadn’t been forced to launch directly into a press circuit after they returned even if it had taken some considerable finagling to get as much leeway on that front as he has.

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice cuts through Tony’s concentration gently, pulls him up out of the project he’s immersed himself in for the day with long practiced ease.

It’s been a thing Tony’s noticed ever since he had dosed himself with Extremis.  There’s been a markable difference as to how much easier it is somehow for FRIDAY or any of the others to get his attention even when he’s knee deep in a project.

Before his mind would tunnel, attention scattered in a thousand different trains of thought but always laser focused at the same time on his goal, on whatever bit or bob he was working on.  It had always made his attention notoriously difficult for someone else to completely capture when he was working. His mind had always been too intent on hunting down his various trains of thought to worry much about the outside world.

JARVIS had always flowed right along with him, able to manage him easily enough.  For his part, years at MIT together had ensured that Rhodey always found it amusing.  Pepper had found it exasperating but had always been fond at the same time and Rogers … well he’d been indulgent about it, always willing to sit in the workshop and sketch.

Now that Tony is a little less human than he was before he seems to have concentration and attention to spare.  Now he can set things aside easily, can shift his thoughts to the back of his mind and focus elsewhere while still keeping calculations and mental simulations running smoothly.

And all he had to do to reach optimal levels of efficiency was become even more of a machine than what people had always accused him of being in the past.  The irony isn’t lost on Tony either, the humor of his situation almost bittersweet and frost covered on his tongue.

Because Tony knows that, presented with the same situation yet again, given the exact same set of choices over again in the aftermath of everything that had happened and knowing the end results, knowing the _cost_ …

He wouldn’t even hesitate.

Extremis has made him faster, stronger, _better_.

A superior shield to be placed in front of all he’s trying to desperately to protect.

A deadlier sword with which to cut down any who might threaten what is _his_.

His mother’s eyes and chunks of his own humanity were a small price to pay for that.

Infinitely precious but _small_ in the long run.

Because what’s his mother’s legacy to him, what are slivers of his own humanity, really worth in the face of saving the world?

“What is it, sweetheart?”  Tony asks, eyes still trained on the projection he’s manipulating but attention easily split.

“It’s about Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY replies.

Tony goes still, split attention snapping back into one direction instantly.

“What about him?”  Tony can’t help the flare of curiosity that rises up in him.

“He’s attempting to find and access your SHIELD issued file,” FRIDAY tells him promptly.  “Specifically the one the spider wrote if his search queries are anything to go by.”

“Is he now?”  Tony feels both of his brows jerk up in surprise.  He’s not really been consciously monitoring the other’s internet access personally, choosing instead to leave that up to FRIDAY herself, so he hadn’t noticed a query for information on him from inside the Compound.

Still, the fact that it’s Barnes doing the looking is … _fascinating_ to Tony in a way he doesn’t completely understand.

Barnes is an enigma in a lot of ways, a puzzle of sorts.

And Tony has always been weak for things that make him _think_.

“What’s your take on his motivation, my girl?”  Tony asks lightly.

There’s a moment of silence and the warm brush of code against his mind takes a contemplative feel as she considers.

“He seems … curious, Boss.”  FRIDAY finally tells him. Her hostility towards Barnes had faded in the early days unlike her disenchantment and outright resentment towards most of the others.

Months ago Tony had to have a talk with her after he’d stopped her from sliding glitchy subroutines into the file containing the arm he’d been building.  It had taken some doing but she’d finally seemed to understand why he himself didn’t have much in the way of issues with Barnes by that point. And why priming the arm he was building to explode the first time Barnes showed hostile intentions towards Tony might not be the best idea.

“Hmm,” Tony gives an understanding hum as he sits back in his chair and crosses his hands over his stomach.

The SHIELD file in question is long gone from any official servers outside of Tony’s control, has been for years now.  But a copy of it, a reminder of sorts, is still saved on Tony’s private servers. It wouldn’t be hard to slide it somewhere only Barnes could find it online, especially with FRIDAY subtly directing him.

The warmth in his chest flutters just a bit because he can’t get the image of Barnes, finger tapping at his own forehead and eyes bright and steady as he tells Tony _exactly_ how to kill him, out of his mind.

“Make sure he gets whatever he’s looking for, sweetheart,” Tony finally tells her.  “As long as it doesn’t compromise our security of course.”

“You sure Boss?” FRIDAY questions softly but Tony can feel the slightly protective tint to the question easily enough.

“Yeah, FRI,” Tony says as he reaches out and brushes lovingly over the code that’s curled against the back of his mind, “if he’s curious help him out.  Man deserves not to be in the dark anymore about what he’s been pulled into. Plus that file … it can’t hurt me anymore either.”

Truth.

Solid and unyielding.

~~~

Tony strides into the crowded kitchen around lunch time that day, another black suit with dark red accents on and dark red lense sunglasses firmly in place.

Redwing hovers just over his left shoulder as is the little bot’s new habit whenever Rhodey and Vision both are busy.  Especially if he’s leaving the Compound or if he’s going to be around anyone outside of their family.

Like he’s about to be.

Tony can’t help but find it sweet and, beyond a bit of fond exasperation, never tries to actively discourage the behavior.

What’s a bit of over protectiveness if it makes his family feel better?

It’s not like he doesn’t keep his own sort of tabs on them in return.

“Mr. Lang,” Tony, not bothering to acknowledge the others crowded into the room together, calls to the man who’s hunched over a plate at the counter.

Lang’s head shoots up, cheek bulging with food and eyes wide.

“Me?” Lang asks, voice muffled by the food in his mouth as he brings his free hand up to point at himself.

“Only one of the Lang’s I know here right now so I’d assume so,” Tony says evenly as he moves towards the counter beside the stove where Barnes is leaning.

He has Tony’s favorite mug in his hand and there’s a saucepan on the stove beside him and the same mug he’d given to Barnes three nights ago is on the counter at his hip.  Tony can smell the chocolate wafting from the stove easily enough and his mouth waters just a bit at the scent. Vision is an accidental culinary genius and Tony is deeply appreciative of that fact.

“That for me?”  Tony can’t help but ask with a raised brow as he nods towards the saucepan.

“Yes,” Barnes answers lowly.

“That’s my mug you know that right?  Vision bought it for me,” Tony huffs lightly as he steps to the side and grabs the other mug off of the counter.

“Aren’t they all your mugs?”  Barns asks softly but without a hint of derision in his tone.  In fact he sounds almost amused if the way his teeth flash in a small grin before he pointedly raises the mug in his hand up and takes a long swallow is anything to go by.

“You have a point,” Tony acknowledges with a small nod as he turns towards the stove.

Barnes is a line of heat and muscle beside Tony as he fills up his mug and then steps around him to put the empty saucepan in the sink.

When Tony turns around again, mug in hand, the entire kitchen is staring at him and Barnes.

“Right,” Tony says as he takes a long sip of his sludge, piping hot and deliciously sweet, “Lang.”

“Yeah,” Lang swallows harshly, coughs, and then straightens up, “I mean, yes?”

“Did you read the packet in your room last night?”  Tony asks as he stares at the man, mug in one hand and the other settled casually in his pocket.

“N-No,” Lang stutters, “I mean I meant to but I was really sleepy and that bed, man that bed is _soft_ …”

“It’s fine,” Tony cuts through his babble easily enough.  “Like I said, I don’t really care either way. But Miss Lang should be here in about twenty minutes so you might want to get ready since you won’t be seeing her again until next month.”

“W-What?” Lang looks confused for a split second but Tony can see it as he begins to connect the dots.  “Miss Lan- _Cassie_?  Cassie’s on the way here?  My Cassie?”

There’s an aching and desperate sort of joy beginning to bloom across Lang’s face.

Tony doesn’t like Lang but he doesn’t hate him either.  Just like with the others there’s only that distant sort of apathy, even if it is … milder in some ways thanks to their lack of a previous relationship.  Tony had heard of him before in a casual sort of way back when he’d been arrested but beyond that he hadn’t really paid much attention to him.

So it’s easy for Tony to admit that, while Lang might be an idiot who doesn’t look before he leaps and has a bad habit of being a blind follower, the man loves his daughter.  It’s written all over his face in a way that Tony’s only seen ever from the outside looking in.

But then Tony also knows that love isn’t always enough, that love without trust, without dependability, means next to nothing.  That’s a lesson Tony had to learn the hard way.

Over and over again.

“You get one three hour visit a month for the next six months,” Tony tells him easily enough.  “As long as her mother continues to agree and Vision, myself, or Rhodey supervises.”

“Oh god,” Lang reaches up to scrub a hand over his mouth, “ _shit_ , Stark, man, that’s … thank yo-”

“What about me?”  Barton, elbows resting on the kitchen table over his plate and fork in his hand, cuts in abruptly.

“What about you?” Tony asks calmly even though he already knows where this is going.

“When are Laura and the kids coming?”  Barton asks.

“I told you to read your packet,” Tony cuts back, “I’m not your secretary.”

“No,” Wanda’s accented voice slices into the conversation from where she’s huddled by Barton’s side, eyes still red rimmed and undercut with dark circles.  She looks like she’s been crying non stop since the last time he saw her. “You’re our _jailor_.”

“You and me have _very_ different definitions of what jail looks like Maximoff,” Tony says as he takes another sip of his sludge.  “Be careful you don’t end up finding out how different.”

Beside Tony, mug abandoned on the counter, Barnes snorts lowly but his face is blank when Tony slants a look up at him.

“Hey, asshole,” Barton hisses out, “I wanna know about my family.”

“Should’ve thought of that two years ago,” Tony shrugs because he has no interest in being the one to tell Barton that Laura most certainly isn’t coming.  “Like I said, not your secretary. Only reason why I said something to Lang is because it’s my day to supervise.”

“Tony …” Rogers goes to interrupt but surge of movement from Barton’s direction cuts him off.

Tony, eyes sharper than ever before thanks to Extremis, sees the fork sailing in his direction and automatically tracks its trajectory.

But, before even his sharper reflexes can kick in, Barnes moves.

It’s a fluid slide of limbs and muscles as Barnes shifts, body twisting and flesh hand snapping up to catch the fork a few inches from where it would have buried itself in the cabinet door beside Tony’s head.

Barnes doesn’t even hesitate as he follows the motion through and sends it sailing back to embed itself into the table top directly in front of Barton’s plate.  A split second later Tony hears it when a small caliber bullet slams into the mahogany table just beside the fork.

Tony’s just grateful that Redwing only fired off the single, obligatory warning shot Tony had managed to get him and FRIDAY to agree to.  He’d proposed the rule in the interest of keeping the injury and/or death toll in the Compound at a minimum. Honestly cleaning up blood and bodies and then having to explaining the situation to the UN and the Accords Council would have been a pain and a half in the ass.

Tony got enough to deal with as it is.

Especially since the fork wouldn’t have actually hurt him if it had hit him.  The sunglasses he’s wearing are reinforced and well … Tony’s not exactly all that vulnerable anymore either.

So Tony, bracketed slightly between Barnes’ body and the marble countertop behind him but relatively undisturbed, just blinks behind the cover of his shades and stares up at Barnes.

For his part Barnes just stares down at him, pale eyes bright and nostrils flaring slightly before he dips his head in a shallow sort of nod and shifts out of Tony’s space to lean back against the counter beside him again.  He’s a inch or so closer to Tony’s side this time than he was before and Tony can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, but he doesn’t bother focusing on that.

“That’s strike one Barton,” Tony says calmly as he sips at his drink and ignores the slightly smoking bullet hole in his table, “two more and you’re out.  And this isn’t exactly baseball so I’d be careful if I were you.”

“That a threat?”  Barton sneers, teeth bared slightly despite the way his shoulders are hunched just a bit.

“No,” Tony tells him as he drains his cup and turns to put it in the sink as well.  “It’s a fact.”

There’s along, tense silence then.

“Ten minutes, Lang,” Tony says as he takes a second to nod at Barnes who’s still watching him and then he turns on his heel, Redwing close behind him, and heads out of the kitchen, uncaring of the whispers that once again pop up behind him.

He’s pretty sure Barton’s going to regret that fork throw if the angry buzzing in the back of his head is anything to go by.  Or the way Redwing is practically vibrating in rage above him.

“Mr. Stark!” Lang’s voice calls out to him a few seconds later just as Tony’s about to turn the corner to the hall that leads to the living room they’d all decided would host Cassie Lang on her visits.

“Lang,” Tony starts moving again and he hears the way Lang scrambles to catch up.

Above him Redwing cocks his gun with a low, ominous sound that makes Lang scuttle an extra step or so to the side, putting distance between him and Tony instantly.

Tony just huffs out an amused breath and keeps moving.

“Look,” Lang breaks the silence once they’re actually in the living room and Tony’s moved to settle on the couch again, phone in hand.  “I know after everything that happened,” Lang grimaces, “I know you probably hate me.”

“You don’t rate high enough on my scale of problems for me to hate you Lang,” Tony tells him blandly as he cuts a look up at him just over the rim of his sunglasses.  “My best advice to you would be to try and make sure that doesn’t happen to change somehow.”

Lang swallows heavily again and Tony gets the distinct impression that Lang might be more than a bit afraid of him.

 _Adorable_ , Tony can’t help but think just a bit exasperatedly to himself.

“I’m still … I just wanted to say sorry, you know,” Lang looks vaguely uncomfortable, “about what I said back on the Raft.  It’s just Hank always said …”

“Hank Pym’s a bitter old bastard,” Tony cuts him off again because he’s honestly got no interest in hearing any of this.  He might not have had a past relationship with Lang but he’s also not looking to build a current one with him either. “I know exactly the kind of things bitter old men like to say about me.  Maybe next time you’ll learn to think on your own instead of letting yourself get blindly led into situations above your paygrade.”

Lang looks down, expression chastised, before he nods and slinks out of the room to, presumably, get ready to see his daughter.

Tony doesn’t really care either way, truth be told.

He, alongside Hope Pym, had made sure that Cassie Lang and her family would be well cared for months ago.  So if Lang learns his lesson or not isn’t really Tony’s business right now, and it most certainly won’t be in a bout six months or so.

After that …

Well if Lang ever gets between Tony and his goals again, if he ever lays so much as a _finger_ on Tony’s family again in or out of that suit, large or small, cute little daughter or not, then Tony will _exterminate_ him.

Truth.

Cold and biting as a winter wind.

Tony has no place for mercy where his family’s safety is concerned.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

~~~

“FRIDAY was most displeased about what happened earlier today in the kitchen,” Vision announces from where he’s floating at Tony’s side.

“I know,” Tony tips his head back, closes his eyes and lets the moonlight wash over his face.

“She said Barnes interfered,” Rhodey speaks up from a few feet away where he’s laid out on one of the lounge chairs, drink in hand and Redwing lounging on his lap.  Tony’s beginning to think he accidentally programmed the little guy to be part cat instead of bird.

“He did, Redwing too.  Took that warning shot we talked about and everything.” Tony acknowledges as he floats lazily up another few feet, arms angled so that the repulsor keep him almost horizontal in the sky.

When Tony opens his eyes he’s eye level with Vision who’s smiling at him, fond amusement plain to see in his face and in the brush of code against the back of Tony’s mind.

Tony just winks at him with a small grin.

“Barton’s lucky all he got was a warning shot,” there’s something vicious and cutting in Rhodey’s voice then.  “He’d better not make that mistake again, especially not where me or Vision can see him.”

“He wasn’t even aiming to hit me,” Tony points out just for honesty sake.  He doesn’t care about Barton but making sure Rhodey and Vision have the right information is important to him.  He won’t lie to them about things like this, not even by omission. He knows how well that goes. “Barton doesn’t actually miss and, Barnes or not, that fork wouldn’t have actually hit me, just the cabinet behind me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rhodey dismisses with a wave of his hand.  “We’re not putting up with that kind of shit no matter what.”

“Indeed,” Vision agrees as he raises up in the sky until he’s right beside Tony, arms coming up to brace beneath Tony’s knees and shoulders.  “I will tolerate no violence towards either yourself or Jim.”

Tony, amused, cuts the repulsors and retracts the armor from his hands and feet, allowing Vision to take his weight in arms as solid and unyielding as vibranium.

And as gentle and safe as a spring morning.

“You two are spoiling me,” Tony tells them, “getting all violent minded and protective.  Makes a guy’s heart flutter.”

“You are incorrigible,” Vision says lightly as he lowers himself onto the lounge chair beside Rhodey, Tony still tucked into his lap, legs extending out to rest on Rhodey’s thighs just below Redwing.

“It’s your fault for indulging me,” Tony snips as he leans back against Vision’s arm, face tilted towards the sky and a silly little grin tugging at his mouth.

“A fact I lament daily,” Vision snips back.  “Though I, in turn, place the blame for that firmly with you.”

“Fair.” Tony agrees.  “Though I do think Rhodey should carry some of that weight too.  He’s got everybody fooled you know, thinking he’s this pillar of justice and composure.  I’ve known him since I was a kid, I know the kind of shit he used to get up to. The dumb shit we both used to get up to _together_.  So really, that indulging my bullshit gene probably comes from him.  Remind me to tell you about Delaware sometimes.”

“You ever tell anyone else that story and I’ll make sure you don’t live to regret it,” Rhodey cuts in, voice harsh and serious.

But Tony can hear the amusement hiding not so deep beneath the surface.

“Come on Sour Patch,” Tony whines softly, “it’s a good story.”

“No, Tony,” Rhodey says, one hand leaving Redwing’s back to latch onto Tony’s now bare ankle.

“But you looked so good in that wig Rh-” Tony cuts himself off with a yelp when Rhodey’s knuckles dig directly into the arch of his foot.

“I said no, you little shit,” Rhodey says even as Tony squirms to get his leg back.

“Vision,” Tony pleads, “ _save me_.”

Vision, the traitor, just clamps an arm around Tony’s waist and holds him in place for Rhodey’s torture.

Tony, laughter spilling out of him uncontrollably, can’t remember a time when he was happier.

Because the Rogues might be back, the world might be chomping at the bit to take a piece out of all of them if anyone makes a single wrong move, but none of that matters in this single perfect moment.

Because Tony has this, has his family, has spring blossoming inside of his chest, winter’s ice being eaten bit by bit by warm winds and warmer love.

There is nothing he would not do, nothing he would not endure, to protect this.

~~~

“You know,” Tony says from where Vision had instructed him to lean back against the glass of the window, “the world’s a big wide place.  Once we get all of this settled … well there’s a lot you haven’t seen yet. Haven’t experienced.”

Vision had asked him to pose for the piece he’s been asked to do for some kind of charity event he’s taking part in at Pepper’s insistence.  Tony had agreed easily enough, always happy to help Vision out with whatever he can no matter his workload.

Plus, thanks to Extremis, posing for a painting doesn’t mean that Tony has to stop working while he does it.

Instead he can send emails and add notes to project files all without moving a single muscle.

“I am aware,” Vision dips his head in a shallow nod, paint brush held carefully in his hand as he eyes Tony, consideration heavy in his gaze.  “But there is time yet for such things.”

“True,” Tony agrees, “just want to make sure you know you have options open.  Because you do have them you know?  And me and Rhodey, all us, we’ll support you, no matter what you want to do.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment I have no intention or desire to be separated from my family at the moment Tony.”  Vision says softly. “Perhaps in the future I will be more inclined to do so but for now I will go where you lead, in this as in so many other things.”

“I’ll make sure you get a list of the best places to go, things to see.”  Tony tells him. “I’ve been around the block a time or twelve, got a lot of insider secrets when it comes to stuff like that.  Rhodey does too.”

“I hope,” Vision pauses for a second, seems to consider, and then pushes forward, “that I will not find myself completely alone when that time comes.  There are many things I think I would only find true joy in experiencing if it were with you and Jim at my side.”

“Hm,” Tony hums softly.  “Family vacation huh? Never had one of those before.”

“It is never too late to start then,” Vision says and when he looks up and catches Tony’s gaze there’s something almost ancient and heavy in his eyes.  “Especially since time is such an … uncertain thing for most of humanity. We should not let it pass us by, should not waste it mindlessly, just because we feel time differently.”

Tony sucks in a slightly shallow breath because this is the first time Vision has really addressed the fact that Tony isn’t exactly _human_ anymore.  It’s the first time they’ve really touched on the fact that time itself, that _aging_ , isn’t something that’s going to affect him the way it does the rest of the world.

Tony is going to live a long time now, longer than he’d ever dreamt he would, longer than he’d ever wanted to.

But now, in a moment of startling revelation, it feels like less of a burden, less of a _curse_.

Because Vision … Vision is going to live a long time too.  Is, for all intents and purposes, _immortal_.

So maybe, just maybe, some good will come from Tony’s new life span, good that doesn’t revolve around protecting the world.

Because now there’s a chance that Vision won’t have to face the future alone with only FRIDAY and the bots at his side, his flesh and blood family turned to dust by the passage of time.

Now there’s a chance that Tony will be able to be there with him, for him, for a very long time to come.

So Tony just smiles, soft and loving, and turns his attention back to dictating emails in his head even as his mind _whirls_.

The silence that falls between them is as easy and warm as always.  Vision’s brush stroking carefully across his canvas a soothing sort of background noise for Tony.

Until, of course, he hears the stomping of feet in the distance and FRIDAY sends him and Vision the alert about incoming company.

Tony shares a commiserating sigh with Vision who carefully places his brush down and glides backwards a step.

“You _son of a bitch_ ,” Barton seethes as he stalks into the room, the other Rogues hard on his heels.

“Clint,” Rogers reaches out a placating hand but Barton snarls and pushes it away.

Tony straightens from his artful sort of lean against the window and turns towards the group, stepping forward and in front of Vision with an arched brow over the frame of his latest pair of sunglasses.  They’re a familiar shade of arc reactor blue and they match the tie and pocket square combo of his newest black on black suit.

His tailor’s had a lot to say about his more recent stylistic choices but Frederick is nothing if not a consummate professional for all of his flamboyance.  Plus they’d been what Vision had laid out for him to wear for this so of course Tony had.

Automatically and almost without his consent Tony’s eyes track Barnes who slips into the room last and moves to hover just to the side, eyes bright and face blank.  Almost as if he’s observing instead of actually part of the group.

“Barton,” Tony finally drawls, an echo from the day before, as he turns his attention towards the man who’s staring at him, face red, chest heaving, and heartbreak bright in his eyes.

He must have, Tony realizes in an instant, finally read at least some of the packet in his room.

“What did you _do_?”  Barton snarl as he tosses a thick, bound sheaf of papers in Tony’s direction.

Tony catches them before they can smack him in the face but he doesn’t even bother to look at them, just tosses them back down at Barton’s feet.

He already knows what they are of course, he’d footed the bill for them and so much more even if that was all he’d done.

The _divorce in absentia_ had been Laura’s choice and Laura’s choice alone.  All Tony had done was make things easier on her by providing a lawyer and then funding her relocation once things were done.

Because Laura had done him a kind turn once and now she has three innocent kids to look after and raise alone.  A lawyer and a brand new fat checking account in her name had been the least he could do for her at the time.

The Barton family, like little Cassie Lang, had deserved better than what they’d gotten in the aftermath of the so called Civil War even if Tony could care less about Barton himself.

“The fact that you think I could, for a second, hold that much influence over Laura actually makes her divorcing you make a lot more sense,” Tony cuts back calmly, uninterested in being kind or sensitive.  Or cruel as far as that goes.

Tony doesn’t care enough about Barton anymore to be interested in either.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Barton practically bites out but Tony can practically feel the desperation in him, “you _had_ to have something to do with it.  You had to. Laura would never have … she _wouldn’t_.”

“I’m also not your therapist or your marriage counselor, Barton,” Tony tells him dryly.  “So I suggest you take your breakdown elsewhere, we’re busy.”

“No,” Barton insists.  “You’re gonna give me an explanation.  You owe me that, you bastard.”

Tony and Vision both go still.

“I owe you?”  Tony asks softly, head tilted to the side as he stares at Barton.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees the way Barnes straightens, interest sharp on his face for a split second before he wipes it away.

“You damn right you do.”  Barton insists even as Romanov steps forward and latches a hand onto his arm and tugs sharply.  Again Barton stands his ground, head up, jaw set, and eyes bright.

“Okay,” Tony nods slowly.  “You want to know why Laura divorced you?  Fine. I’ll tell you.”

“Enlighten me,” Barton grits out.

“Laura divorced you because you disappeared for two years,” Tony says easily, “with what? A phone call, maybe two in that entire time?  You were an international fugitive Barton, by your own choice. After you told her you were out of the game.  You left her and your kids in the middle of a family vacation and never came home.  And that?  That's abandonment.”

“I did the right thing,” Barton cuts in and Tony isn't sure who he's trying to convince.  Tony or himself.  “The Accords weren’t right.”

“Barton you don’t even know what you were fighting for,” Tony dismisses.  “You told Romanov you were retired when she came to you about the Accords.  You couldn’t even be bothered to read them.  So don’t pretend like you were making some kind of political or moral statement when you joined up with Rogers. You came when he called because he offered you a _fight_ instead of a _contract_.  Because you promised Laura you were done but the truth is you’ll _never_ be done.”

Behind Barton Tony sees the way Rogers goes still, the way his eyes widen just a bit as he hears the echo of what Tony had told him once in every word he’s saying to Barton.

“You like it too much,” Tony presses forward.  “The fights, the struggle, the entire goddamn package that comes hand in hand with playing hero.  And Laura was _fine_ with that, when you were honest with her.  When you had the decency to say so to her _face_.  But you didn’t did you?  No instead you left, came here, and helped Maximoff put Vision through the _floor_ so you two could make your great escape.  And look where that got you, Barton. Two years later and all you have to show for it is an international rap sheet and a _divorce_.”

The silence is deafening.

“Tony,” Rogers steps forward then with a frown, eyes wide and sad, “that’s … you can’t keep doing this.  Being like this. Nothing’s ever gonna get fixed between all of us like this.”

“Fuck him,” Barton rasps but Tony can tell that his heart is, once again, not really in it.  Tony _knows_ that Barton is aware that every single word Tony has said is nothing but the truth even if he won’t admit it.  “He doesn’t wanna fix anything. He’s happy just watching the rest of us suffer.”

“Perhaps if you focused less on laying blame at someone else’s door and instead focused on keeping your own house you would not be where you are now.” Vision cuts in, voice hard.

There’s a moment of breathless, shocked silence that Tony actually understands rather well.

Vision had never been one for this kind of … _aggression_ before.

But then he’d still been unmoored in a lot of ways back then, still even more achingly young and unsettled in all of the most important ways.

Now, anchored by the family they’ve built together, Tony knows that Vision’s personality, his emotions, his everything has begun to bloom into something more than he’d ever been before.

Tony is constantly in awe of being privileged enough to watch him grow and expand before his eyes.

“What has he done to you?”  Maximoff rasps then. “Vision, _what has he done to you_?”

Tony, the hairs on the back of his neck raising as Extremis begins to blare alerts in the back of his mind, turns his attention towards Maximoff.

She’s standing there off to the side, just in front of where Barnes is hovering by the wall again.  Her powers, glowing a malevolent scarlet, are twining around her hands and arms like malicious otherworldly vines.

“Tony has done nothing to me,” Vision states calmly but Tony can feel the tension in him as he floats forward to stand even with Tony.  “Except for provide me with a family.”

“He’s _twisted_ you,” Maximoff insists.  “Turned you against us. Against _me_.”

“There are many sins that could be laid at Tony’s door, Ms. Maximoff,” Vision starts calmly, “but to override another’s mind, to take away their _choice_ , has never been and never will be one of them.”

The hand he drops on Tony’s shoulder is filled with a protective sort of intent and is just as pointed a statement as the barb Vision has just thrown.

Maximoff face etched in a shade of dangerous sort of desperation Tony can practically _taste_ , attention focusing instantly on that hand, narrows her eyes sharply.

“That is not true,” Maximoff hisses viciously, accent thick and heavy as her hands flare brighter, “and I will _prove it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/


End file.
